


Paragon

by Nebroxah



Category: Green Lantern - All Media Types, Justice League - All Media Types, Teen Titans - All Media Types, Young Justice - All Media Types
Genre: CSA, Childhood Sexual Abuse, Creative License, Doomed Timelines, F/M, Gen, Past Child Abuse, Self-insert but better, Sexual Abuse, Time Travel Fix-It, csa mention
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-20
Updated: 2017-12-05
Packaged: 2018-11-03 00:41:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 8
Words: 26,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10956129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nebroxah/pseuds/Nebroxah
Summary: As the final hour dawns on the universe, the Green Lantern Corps sends a single agent far back in time in order to prevent the disaster that has befallen them.





	1. The End

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all, welcome to my latest project, first submission to AO3. Also my first real experimentation with first-person narrative. Reviews appreciated!
> 
> Also: I am seriously remixing some DC timelines to make this all work, so expect shenanigans there.
> 
> 12/5/17: Hey all, I have updated the tags for this story. I've decided to tackle some mature topics in this fic. I don't intend to get graphic with it at all, but if you don't like even the mention of anything in the tags, consider yourself warned.

I had to remind myself that the sky over Oa only looked like it was bleeding. From my position, flying between unsteady emerald skyscrapers at speeds that would probably liquify me if I miscalculated, it looked like thick, dark-red blood was slowly seeping in through black cracks in the eggshell-white sky. The reality, however, was quite a bit worse than a nasty atmospheric knee scrape. Those masses were an army unlike any ever encountered before. Near the beginning of the war, someone had coined the term “Legion” and that’s just what we stuck with, despite other Legions being around already. I guess this Legion was Legion-er.

Although they were miles off into the stratosphere, I knew what they looked like up close and personal. Each one was someone who had died, and went to Hell. Not just Hell as it was about on Earth, but every single sentient culture’s concept of an afterlife for people who did bad stuff while they still had a pulse. A Universal Hell, so to speak, so it was a pretty diverse lineup. Each one of them was inhabiting a zombified version of their old body, re-animated and kept in working order by a Black Lantern Ring. Long story short, they come from a guy named Nekron, a walking and talking embodiment of Death itself, and basically turn anybody they resurrect into a nightmarishly powerful zombie, including anything they ever knew or could do while they were alive. The dark red came from a suit of high-tech powered armor that came part and parcel with the Reach Symbiotes fused with their nervous systems. Alone, those didn’t pose many problems for us; us being the Green Lantern Corps, cops of the universe, by the way. The Reach was a species that our bosses, the Guardians of the Universe, had a long-standing grudge with for aggressively muscling in on other systems for resources and slave labor. They never had a chance against us in a stand-up fight, until they decided to throw their chips in with literal Demons. I’m not sure why they picked red. Maybe red Symbiotes were on sale.

So now, here I was, geographical center of the universe (as far as the Guardians could tell at least), with the Legion finally breaching the last, best defense we could put up against them. There was not a cavalry coming. Most days, we _were_ the cavalry.

I realize that the actual end of the universe as any of us knows it is a pretty lousy place to start catching you up to speed. Stick around though, and while I can’t promise that everything will make sense, you’ll at least see that it’s really the only place to start. Let me introduce myself. My name is Geoff Bush, and at this time I’m most likely the last human in the universe that can actually be called “alive.” I’m also one of the best Green Lanterns in the history of the Corps, 52 Oan solar cycles old, five-foot nine-ish, with rapidly graying brown hair, square jaw, and enough battle scars to look like some freakish obstacle course for ants. Usually I don’t keep track of the date in Earth years, but since it’s worth mentioning, it’s the year 3173, and I’m late for my appointment with the End of Days.

I took a dive underneath a graceful, crystalline bridge, my uniform a white streak in a sea of green, as the sky lit up like a couple dozen nuclear explosions. White light in all shapes and sizes met the oncoming Legion forces. We would hold out for a little while at least. I knew that up there, anybody who could sling a ring was wielding the light of creation itself against the onslaught. They were like me, in most respects. Each bore seven rings somewhere on their body. Each one a color of the rainbow, each one representing one of the seven primary emotions that folks go through on a day-to-day. Anger, greed, fear, hope, compassion, love, and my own personal favorite: willpower.

Before the Legion came and forced us to team up, each one of these emotions had its own corps of warriors, and to say that we didn’t always see eye-to-eye on things would be an understatement for the books. Once Nekron showed his ugly head again though, old differences got put aside in favor of a big pulse-versus-flatline match. Nothing seemed to work as well as when someone got a chance to wear all the colors at once. A little cliche, maybe, but it worked like gangbusters. Obviously, it didn’t win us the war though.

So why was I busily breaking the speed limit when I should have been in the upper atmo putting my bacon on the line? Well, I got a call from my bosses, and they told me to be there ASAP. “What could possibly be more important than the defense of the last known planet to harbor life in the entire universe?” I asked. They simply replied with “This.” If nothing else, at least they had my curiosity piqued.

So I hauled ass to the Guardians’ citadel, going as fast as my reflexes and control could keep me from plastering into one artful, green, crystal structure or the next. No vehicle, in case you were wondering. One of the many advantages of being a Green Lantern was the power of flight, along with forcefields, ability to survive the vacuum of cold space, and generate pretty much any object we could imagine out of hard light. Say what you will, but even when we get it handed to us, we put on one hell of a show.

I blew past the security checkpoint. It was empty anyway, the lanterns on duty had gone to fight at the planetary barrier. I only put on the brakes when I knew for certain that if I didn’t, I’d wind up plowing into the walls of the central chamber. I might survive the crash thanks to my forcefield, but if the Guardians knew some way out of this mess, I didn’t want to be the one they blamed for messing up their nice meeting room. The place was huge, circular, and arranged into tiers, with all the Guardians usually floating in the air above the tiers, and forcing anybody who visited them to catch haughty and arrogant stares coming down on them from all angles. The inside of the room was much like all the other structures. If it wasn’t green crystal like the outside, it was gray stone.

It would be difficult to be intimidated by a Guardian before you saw them in action. They rise to about two and a half feet tall, they have two arms and legs, a disproportionately large head, blue skin, and are either bald, or have wispy white hair. Even the sight of the thirty-odd ones usually stationed on their home planet of Oa staring down at you and attempting to make you feel insignificant was less impressive when you took their height into consideration. But trust me on this: when you’ve seen a single one of them wipe out an armada of powerful war ships with the wave of a hand, you re-evaluate your first impressions real fast. They’re crazy powerful, and have a mile-wide superiority complex, but they’ve been burned in the past when they went out and did their thing in person. That’s why they founded stuff like the Green Lantern Corps.

This particular trip to the center of the Guardians’ citadel was quite a bit less intimidating than others that I had taken here. Maybe it was the impending doom outside giving me a bit of a perspective overhaul. Or maybe it was the fact that there was only one Guardian in here. Instead of floating in the air, and looking down at me, the only other person in the room, he was standing in the center of the circular floor, back turned towards the door, and his tiny blue hands clasped behind him. He gazed up, looking from the position of where so many others had stood to be judged. His awareness was still perfect, especially since I was still in the process of slowing down, and he calmly turned to greet me as I tried my hardest not to fly right over him.

“Lantern Bush. Thank you for responding to my summons so quickly,” he said. His name was Ganthet, and even among the ridiculously powerful and famously eccentric Guardians, he had a reputation as a real rebel. He was the first Guardian since their ascension to near-godhood to ever take a name, for one. Most of them had abandoned names like they abandoned the title of Oan, even though their home planet never changed. He smiled, wistfully. Although the number of people who had ever seen a Guardian cry could probably be counted on one hand (maybe with even less digits than mine), I had the feeling that if I had been a few moments later, I would have been counted among that score. “I think we had a pretty good run, don’t you?”

“Ganthet, uh, sir,” my voice was a little unsteady, but I think I could be forgiven due to the current situation. An ominous boom, like distant thunder, vibrated the floor we stood on. I sincerely hoped that he didn’t just drag me here to be dramatic. “Forgive me,” I continued, “but where are the rest of the Guardians?”

He waived his hand dismissively, “Gone off to fight, no doubt. Or to hide, I think a few may have had that as an ‘endgame’ scenario. Probably convinced that if Nekron wipes out everyone in the universe but them, they can make a better go of it than this time. Even Guardians can dream I suppose.”

I furrowed my brow, confused. “And what about you? What’s your endgame?”

His smile turned from wistful to almost mischievous. “Why, my dear boy. You are.” He jerked his head back towards the door, and said “Walk with me, Lantern Bush, I could do with a stroll, as well as with some company.”

Bits of gray stone dust shook from the ceiling as another blast shook somewhere a little bit nearer. I kept pace with Ganthet, a few steps behind and to the right. _What was he up to this time?_ I thought, but prudence won out and I stayed quiet.

“I recall you being quite excited to join the corps,” Ganthet said, casually, as we took a left into the restricted section of the citadel. This was Guardians and guests only territory.

I answered almost automatically. “Yes sir. Dreamed of it for years.” I had. “Ever since I was just a kid on Sanctuary.”

The shock of white hair nodded sagely. “You were one hell of a recruit. Always had the fire. Showed up for everything, no matter how gruelling or insignificant it was.” I could feel the blood rush to my face. Flattery among the apocalypse was still flattery. “You graduated top of your class. Climbed the ranks at feverish speed. Declined the Alpha Lantern promotion, served in the Honor Guard instead.

“Twenty years.”

“And quite a few disciplinary sessions, too. You Humans, always fast and loose with the rules.” He smirked. We took another left, heading to the labs, where the Guardians would sometimes spend their time picking at the few mysteries of the universe that still escaped them. Ganthet continued, “That’s why we jumped at the chance to put you into the Corpse.”

The Corpse was a branch of the Green Lantern Corps known of only by the Guardians and its own members. We were the black ops team. Officially, we were MIA to the rest of the rank and file. We took the hardest missions in the most unfriendly territories, and every minute of it was entirely deniable. No backup. Not even a Green Lantern uniform, or a power ring. We got by with modified power disks that dissolved after five days. If you didn’t make it home by then, you were not a recoverable asset.

“Eleven years there.”

Ganthet chuckled. “Almost a record. Then this Nekron business happens again, and you lost your cush little corner office.” We approached a large, secure door, that opened at Ganthet’s mere presence. “But today, you get a chance to go further. You will become the most powerful soldier that the Guardians have ever employed, and given the single most unspeakable mission in our history.”

_Sure,_ I thought. _No pressure or anything._ “What do you need me to do?"

We strode through Ganthet’s private laboratory, as the building shook more violently, the explosions and sounds of battle echoing closer. Spidery and expensive looking equipment clattered together as we passed it, but the Guardian walked by unconcerned. Eventually, we arrived at an empty, metal archway, with a control panel in it. I recognized it as a two-way teleporter, having used a few in my Corpse days. “The mission that you are about to undertake,” Gantet explained, as he touched the panel, coaxing the portal to life, “is one that will violate every oath you have taken as a Lantern of any corps, not just ours. Therefore, in accordance with our laws, I must formally strip you of all rank, and remove you from this issue.”

I stared at him. I think it was shock. Actual, medical shock. The kind that some people go to hospitals over. I opened my mouth to protest, but he put a hand up to silence me.

“Please, trust me, Lantern Bush. You are only casting off that which is no longer necessary, in order to become what is necessary now. Please begin removal procedures.”

Wordlessly, I surrendered. While the world was crashing down around our ears, I would die without my dream after all. I started to take the rings off. First came Red, the color of rage. It had to be the first one off, because they did some real nasty things to your body when you put it on the first time. It was only by the grace of the other rings that anybody was able to survive it. The second to go was Orange, for avarice. Greed was a powerful motivator, and if it was left for later, there might not be any coming back from it. Purple came next, for love, because while anger could kill me, and greed could take me over, love could make me the most irrational. Indigo came off with compassion. Yellow for fear. Blue for hope.

At last, I was left with only my Green Lantern ring on the middle finger of my right hand. It was my original, given to me when I joined the Junior Lanterns the month after my tenth birthday. I had never lost it, broke it, or had it taken for any reason, except for when I joined the Corpse. Even then, they kept it aside for me. Being a Green Lantern meant that you had willpower to burn. Everything our rings did stemmed from the collective willpower given off by sentient beings across the cosmos, and it was focused, shaped, and projected by our own will. In over fifty years, I had never done anything that required more willpower than taking off that green conduit to something bigger than myself, and setting it on a lab counter with six others.

“Ok Ganthet,” I said, looking down at myself. It was hard to remember what I was wearing under my luminescent white uniform, which disappeared when I removed the power source that generated it. Apparently it was a pair of red track pants and a white tank top. I may as well have been stark naked. I was totally powerless against what the universe faced now. “I guess I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”

The floor shook. Ganthet took a deep, heavy breath. “Then step through the portal, Geoff,” somehow that shook me more than the pounding Oa was taking right now. I had never heard a Guardian call me by my first name. “Please, tell the High Prognosticant that we’re sorry. For everything.”


	2. Nullpoint Station

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before the brightest day, always comes the blackest night.

Part of me thought this was Ganthet’s idea of some weird prank. He was the only Guardian with anything resembling a sense of humor, and as I stepped forward through the tingly film of swirling green energy, I couldn’t help but think of all the jokes that were cracked at the High Prognosticant’s expense.

No lantern worth their ring would dare deny the obvious value, effectiveness, and efficiency of the Prognosticants. They were an entirely artificial race, custom-built from the genes up by the Guardians, some three or four centuries ago. They had bits and pieces of every race in the known universe that had some form of psychic ability, precognition, rapid sensory analysis, attention to detail, mental processing speed, or mathematical advantage in them. And the Guardians weren’t even done there. After building a race of perfect observers, they outfitted them with the most advanced cybernetics they could get their little blue hands on. Each Prognosticant was not only a biological equivalent of an advanced predictive computer, they literally had a powerful coprocessor in their brain to help them crunch data even faster.

Now, on the battlefield, having a logistical leg up like that was such a huge advantage that we were basically cheating, but the Guardians decided to take it the extra mile. Even my basic, standard-issue Green Lantern Power Ring was theoretically capable of time travel. It would just take a truly impressive amount of willpower and borderline-miraculous concentration to keep all the variables in-line, but it could be done. For your average ring-slinger to try it probably was not a good idea in the slightest, but for a Prognosticant, it was child’s play. It was the job that they were created for, to travel forward in time, observe any trouble that could be prevented by making different choices on our end, and report back to the Guardians, who would issue order changes based on their recommendations. Before the Legion showed up, the Prognosticants had kept the Guardians on top of things in a very significant way.

The High Prognosticant, however, was a different matter. After seeing the success of their creations, the Guardians designed a sort of “Prognosticant 2.0.” The first one was more powerful and more accurate than any one before. When she completed her training, the Guardians told her to look as far as she could into the future, and prevent the biggest threat to them. The story goes that she told them that they were too little, too late. The universe was doomed already, and there wasn’t a damn thing the all-powerful blue midgets could do about it. Needless to say, when you tell a group of people with nearly godlike power that they can’t have something, they tend to throw quite the tantrum. Nobody knew what happened to her after she was the bearer of the ultimate bad news, but the story got out somehow. From then on, anything that was a waste of time in the Corps was a ‘task for the High Prognosticant.’

Apparently, her fate was to be stuck into storage until she was somehow useful. As I stepped out the other side of the portal, in my red track pants and white tank topped glory, I beheld a small, comfortable antechamber. The walls and floor were dark grey, glassed-over metal, but they were elegantly curved. Off to the side, there was a small, dark violet waiting couch, and a spiralling, woven rug filled the center of the room. Indirect lighting, in a warm, golden tone illuminated the place from a strip around the perimeter of the room, and a fragrant bouquet of flowers occupied a glass vase on a mahogany end table. Off to the left, an iris-shaped door was left open, revealing a hallway. All in all, this would be a cozy place to wait for the end of everything.

The room’s decor couldn’t even hold a flickering candle to its occupant though. I had seen Prognosticants before, particularly on my tenth birthday, when every child’s future was analyzed to see if they would be an asset to the Corps. The High Prognosticant had many similar features, but at the same time, she was worlds apart. She must have been her race’s version of an albino, as she was white as the light we fought the Legion with. Bared, four-toed feet poked out from her wings, which all Prognosticants generally wrapped themselves in like an ankle-long pencil dress. Since they were all genetically pieced together in some Guardian lab somewhere, they were a mono-gendered species, all female-seeming. Many of their physical characteristics came from the Monarchists of Papilliox, including majestic, butterfly-like wings, and forehead antennae. The wings were fully functional, I knew, although they tended to not wear much underneath them, so they used their rings to fly like all the other Lanterns. Around them, there always seemed to be some sort of dust, a faintly glittering mist that I never really learned the purpose behind. They had digitigrade legs, four fingers and toes, an elegantly-shaped, humanoid face, and eyes like black holes. They didn’t reflect any light whatsoever, and making eye contact meant contending with two abyss-like voids. Equally dark hair ran down from the back of her head, bound into a long, thick braid.

She greeted me, but she did not smile. “Welcome, Geoff Bush,” she said, with just the slightest edge of something in her voice. Was that anger? Impatience? Jealousy? She was impossible to read. “As you can probably guess, I’ve been expecting you for some time now.”

I swallowed, feeling totally underdressed for the occasion. “High Prognosticant,” I said by way of greeting, as I gave an earnest bow.

“Please,” she replied, “call me A’eb. I’ve waited nearly three centuries for this day, far too long to stand on ceremony. Come.” She turned crisply, and walked through the open iris.

I had to walk with longer strides than usual to keep up with her. Maybe she looked fragile on the outside, but she was all business. “Ganthet said to-,” I started.

“I know.” A’eb said, flatly. “I forgave them even before they exiled me, because I had seen it happen, and seen that they would ask for it at the last possible moment. Still, Ganthet’s sentiments are appreciated.” We finished the walk down the corridor in silence.

At the end of the hallway was another opened iris, leading into another very cozy room. About a third of it off to the right was the same floor level that we were on, and it hosted a dark wood and dark stone island kitchen. The rest of the room was down two steps, and included some overstuffed couches, a coffee table, and some potted plants. A roaring fireplace occupied the back wall, and another two iris doors branched off in opposite directions. Among all the thoughts in my mind about the place, somehow the total absence of windows managed to rise to the surface. “Where are we?” I asked, half to A’eb, and half wondering aloud to myself.

“Sector 0911. The Obsidian Depths.” _Ah._ That would explain it. The region of space was so dark that its inhabitants actually evolved without sight. There was no reason to have windows. I nodded, but she continued. “The Guardians built Nullpoint station here, to house their most well-guarded secrets. This place cannot be detected by any conventional method, as it is designed to give off no energy signature at all. It even uses special anti-mass generators to compensate for gravimetric readings. Of course, the Legion will find this place eventually, but here we have a bit less of a schedule to keep.”

A’eb walked into the kitchen area, and lifted a steaming copper kettle off the stove. “I have a large variety of refreshment here, if there’s anything you’d like to enjoy one last time.”

_No thanks, I’ve had enough depression for one day._ She smiled slyly as the thought ran through my head, but not out my mouth. _Oh duh, Geoff, Prognosticants are all psychic._ “Um, just a glass of water please.”

Wordlessly, she poured herself a mug of hot tea, with something citrus in it, and got me a glass of water from the sink. “I’m sure Ganthet told you very little about why you’re here, correct?”

“Only that I was about to become some sort of Super-Lantern, and sent off on some quest to save the universe.”

A’eb smiled again, but this time, it was a sad thing. “That’s only half correct. You are going to receive more power, true; but you are also going to accept more limitations to go with it.” She looked at the floor, and I got the sense that she said what came next with a heavy burden. “You’re also not going to save the universe. You’re going to destroy it.”

I blinked. Destroy it? Was Ganthet out of his blue mind? “Whoa,” I said, “that’s not what I signed up for. I did not agree to anything like that.”

She shook her head, closing her obsidian eyes, her black hair shimmering in the firelight. “I know. Just give me a moment, and you’ll see. Have a seat.” She gestured to a bar stool that was slid under the island kitchen’s counter. I pulled it out and sat down, grimacing. I was supposed to be the good guy here, not Geoff Bush, destroyer of worlds.

“Do you know what the most important rule of time travel is?” A’eb asked me. She didn’t wait for an answer, although she knew that one was running through my head already. “Never change the past. That’s why if the Lantern Corps makes a mistake, we Prognosticants can’t go back in time to fix it. Doing so can prevent an entire reality of people from ever existing in the first place, without their permission or input.”

“Like a cosmic-scale grandfather paradox.” I nodded. “If I go back in time and kill my grandfather while he’s a kid, my father is never born, and therefore I am never born, so how could I go back in time to kill my grandfather in the first place? Something like that, right?”

“Sort of. Unless you were a person of such importance that you affected the course of history, the timeline would probably be just fine. The version of yourself that just killed your grandfather would stick around until he died of some other cause, however, because at the moment you went back in time, you split reality into multiple timelines, one where your grandfather grows up, and one where he doesn’t.” She gave me a moment for this to sink in.

“Now,” she continued, “imagine if your Grandfather was also someone of cosmic importance, say, the leader of a civilization that decides to go to war with another one. If, by killing him, you prevent the war, you’ve created a large divergence in the timelines. You may have saved thousands of lives from being killed in a war, but you have also prevented the conditions that would lead people to meet others, thereby preventing these couples from deciding to procreate, and thereby denying others a chance to exist in the first place. You can see how trying to do something good with time travel can oftentimes lead the exact opposite direction.”

“So that’s why you don’t change the past, it’s a moral quagmire.” I said, crossing my arms and nodding in understanding.

“Exactly. But after I told the Guardians that in order to save their universe, it would be precisely what we had to do, Ganthet decided to keep me around as part of his plan for the end times. He reasoned that if the universe was ending anyway, and the loss of life would be near or at one hundred percent, then the moral obligations of the Guardians to protect the lives that already existed at that point would be moot.”

The logic made a certain degree of sense. Since where I was coming from was coming to an end, there was nothing left to protect. “So I’m not going to destroy the universe, I’m going to prevent it.”

The porcelain butterfly pointed a delicate finger at me. “Now you’ve got the idea. And you’ve just got one more question, too.”

I smiled as A’eb sipped her tea. She was psychic, but she wanted to hear me say it anyway. “Why me? Why not you, or Ganthet, or heck, all the Guardians at once?”

She put the mug down, and sighed at it longingly, knowing it was her last one ever. “Because when the Guardians asked me to find a way around the biggest threat to the universe, I told them that a Human could do it, if we equipped them properly, and sent them back to exactly the correct point in time and space.”

My head swam at the thought. My genetics had never before played a large role in my life. I was Human, yeah, but I was just Human. In a universe full of sentient, sapient species, one double-helix string of DNA, twenty-three chromosomes long, was simply not that impressive, but here I was, lucky representative of a fallen universe. “Of course, they wouldn’t have gone along with that at the time, because it would have endangered the universe they were currently in,” I reasoned.

“Right. My research into the Legion identified three individuals that made our greatest foe’s army even possible in the first place. All three of them were on Earth, within the same Human lifetime. If someone were to influence all three of these beings, the Legion could be stopped cold before it even became a reality.”

“And you need a Human to do it, because nobody would question another Human being on Earth.” I saw the logic. If a Guardian or a Prognosticant showed up on pre-Reach Earth, there would be a big fuss about it. They might be hindered or stopped from completing their objectives. On the other hand, I would be nobody worth paying special attention to.

I drained my water glass. Things were starting to make sense to me now. It would be like a deep-cover mission back in the Corpse, which is why they undoubtedly picked me over any of the other Human candidates they may have had available.

A’eb watched me with those lightless eyes, expectant. “Ready to go?” She asked the question like we were about to walk down the street for a root beer float. I stood up, and nodded. “Ok, take a seat on the couch. I’m told the process hurts a bit, so you might as well be comfortable. I’ll be right back.”

_Oooookay, not what I expected time travel to be like. Did the Guardians remove the Prognosticant’s pain centers from their brains or something?_ I thought I heard A’eb chuckle as she walked through one of the iris doors. While she was gone, I flopped on the couch, a comfier time machine I could not have imagined.

When A’eb returned, she was holding a small, silver box in her hands. She knelt down by the coffee table, depositing the box on the floor near the couch. She opened it, and I saw a few very interesting artifacts. The first was a cube, the same silver as the box it contained. She handed it to me, and I took it, looking it over with interest. The other items I spied were a headband tethered to the box by some sort of cord, and an almost-familiar black disk, about the size of a large coin.

That, I recognized. That was a Corpse Power Disk, one of the five-day replacements for an actual power ring. Something was very odd about it though. It was tucked in a plastic bag, which was then filled with some sort of cloudy, pink substance.

“What’s going on with that Power Disk?” I asked A’eb.

“That’s for later,” was her only answer. “What’s your favorite color?”

I started to say green, almost reflexively, but it came out as “Gr-eep!” The silver cube that was in my hands bit me. I should have recognized the distraction tactic immediately, but hey, end of the universe has a way of occupying a guy’s mind.

The pain was actually pretty intense, and the blood flow was quite impressive for such a small wound. It was just about bigger than a pin prick, but the box had taken what could only be called a core sample from my hand. I didn’t have to be a medic to know that it had pierced right through my bone.

A familiar green light sprung from the ring on A’eb’s finger, as she formed a construct. That’s the beauty of the Green Lanterns. We don’t just have force fields and lasers and stuff, we could also make little things like bandages. Luminescent green gauze coated my tiny puncture, that was already beginning to swell and turn a bruised purple around it, and then green glowing medical tape wrapped around it.

Of course, in the line of my work, I had received far more grievous injuries, but at those times I at least had a ring or power disk to help me out. I felt silly, and more than a little helpless, on A’eb’s couch, in my red track pants.

“What was that all about?” I asked, as much to the cube as to A’eb.

“Genetic sample. The Nano-cube needs as detailed of a sample as possible in order to program itself to the least possible rejection factor. It also injects a moderate neurotoxin to help put you into REM sleep.”

As if in answer, I could feel my eyelids become heavy as anvils. The sure, white hands of the High Prognosticant guided my head onto the couch’s arm, and swung my feet onto the far side. As sleep began to drag me under, I felt her fit something around my head, probably the headband I saw in the box earlier. “Rest for now, Geoff Bush. Your mission will begin soon; but first we have one more stop to make.”


	3. Sanctuary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The High Prognosticant's "stopover".

I heard the electric pop of power coursing to the speaker mounted to the wall above my sleep unit. My hand shot out from beneath the covers, and delivered a precision strike to the “off” button on the alarm before it even had a chance to begin chiming. Normally, at 0600, I would have been dead to the world for another two hours, but not today. Today was special, and I was so wired for it that I hardly slept last night. The haze of fatigue would probably catch up to me later tonight, but for now, I had enough energy to do laps around my hab module. Today marked the tenth anniversary of my birth. Today, I got to find out if I had what it took to be a Green Lantern.

It was the only thing that ever mattered to me; well, that and my dad, who I could hear in the kitchen unit just outside my door. Most folks wrote dad off as a layabout, but did he make a fine pile of scrambled eggs. I would care for my mom too, but the fact was that I had never met her.

I practically leaped out of bed, my hair brushing the bottom of dad’s bunk as I set a new speed record running for our refresher unit. I dialed in the water temperature at six degrees below the “recommended species safety range”, and proceeded to blast whatever grime had clung to me throughout the night. I ran through my morning routine so quickly that I wound up with extra time to make sure that the haircut I got yesterday was exactly right. My brown hair was slicked straight back on the left side of my head, and after a part just above it, everything else was combed over to the right.

I changed out of my standardized, light-grey PJs, and threw on my jeans, socks, shoes, and my most prized possession: my lucky shirt. It was one of the things dad bought me with the money he raised from his tip jar. It was a black tee shirt, with a pair of glowing green eyes on it, above a fist. On the fist’s middle finger (never mind that there were only three fingers) was a Green Lantern Ring, and on the back of the shirt, in green letters, it said “No Evil”, referencing my favorite part of the Green Lantern oath.

I pulverized the door button into the kitchen, to see my father, Stanley, smiling and holding an oversized plate of scrambled eggs. “Heya champ,” he said, using the nickname he had given me while I was still in diapers, “happy birthday!” Dad was in his best outfit too, although it was a little too kind to call it formal. He had a red and white tye-dye shirt on, under a black leather vest with chrome studs. He wore a flame print bandana on his head, a pair of torn-up jeans, and his nose was framed on top by a pair of sunglasses, and from below by a mustache. He was a musician by trade, although there really wasn’t a market for it. We got by on Sanctuary standard allowances just fine though. This was his stage outfit.

Breakfast was great, as always. He dropped a few details about his gig from last night, but mostly focused on how stoked I was to meet with the Prognosticant today. We had lots of laughs together, including him sawing in the air next to me with his butter knife saying “The excitement’s so thick in here, I can almost cut it with a knife!”

When the 0700 bell rang, my old man slapped me on the shoulder, and said “Go get ‘em, I’ll be here for you when you get back!” I nodded, and booked it out the door like there was a ticked-off Czarnian kill squad behind me. The artificial sunlight that streamed down from the ceiling of the Earth Enviro-Dome was bright and pale. The season was set to autumn only a few days ago, meaning the air temperature was cooler, but the heat from the sun was still pleasantly warm. I jogged down the sidewalk to the local transit point. The big, floating bus was just arriving, and a few other Human kids had already grouped up to get seated. Any other day, that would have been me in about an hour and a half. My bus didn’t leave until 0845, but today I had to get to school early.

One of the cooler parts about your age reaching the double digit mark was that you could use the transit system by yourself, so the Sanctuary administration’s birthday present for you was your first solo ride. Of course, everything was strictly recorded and monitored, so it wasn’t like you could keep where you were going a secret, but the idea that you didn’t have to have an adult with you at all times was still pretty cool. I stopped at the call terminal, and waved my hand in front of it, the microchip I was fitted with at birth broadcasting my identity to the machine. It made a pleasant _*ding*_ sound, as it registered my request, and then a short countdown timer appeared. 28 seconds was a pretty short wait, compared to later in the afternoon.

A blue hover car, with no manual controls, and a circular seat with enough room for six people skimmed down from the sky, which already had quite a few busily buzzing about in orderly lines. After it landed, I climbed in through the automatic door, which closed behind me, and waved my hand over the console in the center of the seats. _*ding*_. I said my destination aloud. “Human Edu-module 3, main entrance.” Normally, my bus would have dropped me off at the 5th floor cafeteria, but the Prognosticant’s office was on the ground floor.

The car waited three or four seconds, while it registered its flight plan with the central traffic coordinator, reserved spots in the traffic lines we would be using, and waiting for anybody else who may have joined me to input their destination. Apparently satisfied, its engine’s steady hum jumped up a few octaves, and I was on my way.

Not having to steer or anything made the ride very enjoyable. I hung my head over the car’s wall, glancing down at the gray, prefabricated hab modules and green lawns below me. Part of me wondered how much of this actually resembled pre-Reach Earth, where I had been born.

Many years before I happened about, a conflict between Earth, and an insectoid species calling themselves The Reach, devastated the planet. Ash falling like snow was common, crops refused to grow, the oceans were gray and dead; at least that’s what the pictures were all about. My mother and father had made it there, both slaves of The Reach. When Sanctuary was terraformed, the Guardians who created it installed Enviro-Domes for various races in the universe that had been enslaved or displaced, then they bartered for some lucky lives to go live freely. Most enslaving races were happy to give up a few workers to keep the morale of the rest up. Stanley was one of the lucky ones, and I was too young to work yet, so I got to go with him. I was only a few weeks old, so I don’t even remember my mom. Dad still did though, and he didn’t talk about it much. I got the sense that there probably wasn’t much of mom to bring to Sanctuary in the first place.

The hover car’s engine dropped its humming as it slowed down, approaching Human Edu-module 3, ground floor. I waited for it to come to a complete stop, and for the automated door to open, and then I was on the sidewalk, spring in my step. The car would wait around for a minute to see if anybody else needed to use it, and if not, it would head back skyward to respond to the closest call.

I marched between the same stone columns that teachers and parents dropping off their kindergarteners did, and passed through the automatic doors. As older kids, we didn’t see this section of the school too much, but any Green Lantern hopefuls like myself had the Prognosticant’s office memorized. I took a left at the second hallway, rounded the enclosed courtyard in the middle of the school, took another left, and opened the door.

In here was a small collection of kids who weren’t just ten years old, they were kids that shared my birthday. I nodded to them. I didn’t know them very well, but it was a big school, so that was no surprise. There were seven of us total, and on a small, wheeled cart, were seven locked boxes. As the story went, the boxes were all empty until the Prognosticant read your future. Then, she would travel to some nearby time, and get something that would guide you towards your destiny. If someone were artistically oriented, it might be a paint set, or a new model of multi-tool if they were mechanically inclined. If that kid had a future with the Green Lantern Corps, the box would contain their first power ring, their power battery, and copies of the Green Lantern Code, and the Junior Lantern Handbook.

The office itself was pretty standard. It was a small waiting room with a desk for the Prognosticant to do her work at, and then a separate door leading into a consultation room. That door opened, and O’ys, our school Prognosticant, stepped out. She was wrapped, as always, in her brilliant, blue wings, which contrasted well with her dark brown skin. Her pastel blue hair was cut in a bob, and she always had this serene smile on her face. “Miss Allen?” She called out the name on the first box she had picked up. A rail thin girl with long, brown hair stood up nervously, and followed O’ys into the consultation room.

“Geoff Bush?” An oddly impatient, female voice came from the wall behind where we were all waiting, where the office door was. It was only my name called, but the other five kids and I all twisted our heads to see who was asking for me. In the doorway stood another Prognosticant. This was was certainly different from O’ys though. Where O’ys was all color and smiles and life, this one was monochromatic. She was pure, sheet white, from her head to her toes, except for her long, braided hair, and her empty black eyes.

I stood, silently, in response to her calling on me. “Come,” she commanded. “I will be performing your reading today.” I glanced over at the locked boxes on the cart, knowing one of those had to be mine. Was I in some sort of trouble? That’s when I noticed one more bit of color on this new woman’s body. On her hand was a Green Lantern power ring. That meant that she wasn’t just a Prognosticant, she was also an active duty Lantern.

 _Technically,_ I reasoned, _as I’m not in the Corps yet, there’s no way she should be able to give me orders. Buuuut, I **want** to be in the Corps. So if I **were** in the Corps, she would outrank me, so I would have to follow her orders._ It made sense to me, at least. “Yes ma'am,” I said, crisply. I could swear that she rolled her eyes, but as they didn’t have pupils I could see, it was hard to tell.

She walked out of the room and down the hallway at a brisk pace, and I had to nearly jog to keep up. “Um…” I started. “Where are we going?”

“Somewhere more comfortable. You’re going to need to lie down.” That was new. In all the readings I had heard of, no Prognosticant had asked this yet; but she wore the ring, so she was definitely the boss. We rounded to the other side of the courtyard, and entered the nurse’s office. Our nurse miss Muion, a husky, pale teal, humanoid from Raan, worriedly adjusted her spectacles and brushed her dark green hair behind her ear, but did nothing to stop us.

The Prognosticant lead me back to one of the examination rooms with a bed in it. Wheeled over to the bed’s side was a small, standing tray, with a silver box on it. This one, however, was open. There were three things in it: a headband, a bag full of pink goo and a black disk, and a silver cube. There was a line going around the equator of the cube that glowed and pulsed red, like a beating heart. They were absolutely not what I had hoped to find in my box, but since this box was already open, was it part of the same reading ceremony? Or was this something else entirely?

“Lie down,” the white Prognosticant said, and I did. She reached for the headband in the box, which I could now see was tethered to it by a couple of wires. “Put this on, connection point forward.” I must have looked pretty silly, with a pair of curly wires sticking off my forehead, but looking at her antennae, I decided not to make a comment about it.

“What is this going to do?” I asked, as she reached inside the box.

“Brace yourself,” she said. “For one thing, it’s going to hurt.”

I swallowed, and put my tongue back in my mouth so I didn’t bite it off. I was now absolutely certain that this was not part of a regular reading. I heard a small _*click*_ as my head snapped back, my eyes bulged open, my vision went black, and my mouth gasped for air in a silent scream.

It’s pretty hard to describe what happened to me that instant. I can tell you what I think it felt like, at least. Everything external on my body, my skin, nails, and hair, felt like they had been dunked in molten lead. Everything internal felt like it had been thrown into the cold vacuum of space. My brain felt like it had just taken a bolt of lighting, as forty-two odd years worth of school, training, life-or-death missions, fights, successes, and failures poured into it. I remember a very distinct pain in my right hand, that my left hand shot over to grab it, just before I lost consciousness.


	4. Halcyon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geoff is given many precious gifts for the road ahead.

Forty-two years in the Green Lantern Corps tends to give people some colorful coping mechanisms. Some lanterns partake of whatever it is that alters their brain chemicals in a pleasant manner, others meditate, exercise, volunteer, scream at rookies, join fight clubs, anything to take their minds off the worst parts of the job. Even before the Legion showed up, the Corps dealt with some of the worst crap the universe had to offer, and that went double for the Corpse.

My own personal vices were what I liked to call the three S’s: Sleep, Sex, and Sarcasm. I got away with the first one whenever I could, but that was pretty rare, so when weird and painful things happened, like getting stuffed back into my ten-year-old body like trying to fit too many clothes into a regulation rucksack, I tended to get a bit snarky. Sex, my favorite of the three S’s, simply did not happen anymore.

The first thing I did when consciousness slowly crawled its way back into my head was grab the tissue-thin blanket the school nurse had provided me, tuck it over my head, and roll over, hoping that the added protection from the light would do something, anything, to blunt the migraine I had developed. It didn’t.

“Are you awake, Geoff Bush?” High Prognosticant A’eb said. She must have been seated close to my bed. _Ten more minutes Mom,_ I thought, _or years, whichever is more convenient._

I had never heard A’eb sound so obviously amused before. Sarcasm must not be anything that she got a lot of, floating in a lightless abyss along with other top-secret Guardian stuff. “Well, such a shame, if you were awake, I could administer these painkillers for your headache,” she said, just as sassy as I was. A shake of a pill bottle told me what form it came in, and bribery had always worked on me far better than coercion did.

I groggily rolled onto my back, eyes still shut tight, and clawed my hand out from under the blanket. I heard the pill bottle open, and a single gelcap was placed into my palm. Dragging my prize back under the thin sheet, I swallowed it without any water. “Just one?” I asked. That was weird, hearing my voice as it was before I hit puberty again.

“You’re half as big,” A’eb answered. I grunted my acknowledgement. The medicine was already kicking in, and the ticked-off wasps that had been buzzing in my skull started to form an orderly line and file out my ear. In a few minutes, I was ‘right as rain’ as my old man used to say, although I still could have taken anybody up on that decade-long coma.

I pulled the blanket off, and sat on the edge of the bed, looking down at myself. “Oh man, I loved this shirt,” I said as I saw what I was wearing. It was a blow when I didn’t fit into it anymore.

A’eb answered me, impatient as ever. “Present tense. You’re not just ten years old again. I came back to your tenth birthday, with the memories you had when you came to see me at Nullpoint Station. We’re currently located at your school’s nurse office.”

“Yeah,” I answered, glancing around the room, “about that. Why, exactly, do you need me like I am now, and not like I was-err, will be?” Damn this time travel stuff was going to be hard to get used to.

The regal white figure crossed her digitigrade legs at the ankles, and clasped her four-fingered hands in her lap. “You recall the three individuals I mentioned that you must interact with?” I nodded. “Two of them are the age that you are now, mere adolescent humans. It will be far easier to influence them as a peer than with grey hair, don’t you think?” _Teenagers. Wonderful._ “In any case, you are really only a fifth of the way to being ready to undertake your mission. The next two steps will be much easier, though.” She stood up. “I hope you’re hungry. We need a very large source of nutrients.”

I smirked. It may have been a long time since I lived on Sanctuary, but it was still my home turf. Additionally, I had the benefit of knowing that nothing had changed since I left for basic training on Mogo, the sentient planet, because I hadn’t left yet. “Corps members always eat free at Pechyak’s Pizzaverse, and since it’s Friday, their all-you-can eat buffet is on.”

“Efficient. I like it.”

* * *

A’eb did not, in fact, like Pechyak’s Pizzaverse. It was a loud, obnoxious place, in the most densely populated hub of the Human Enviro-dome, full of loud noises and bright lights coming from every digital entertainment cabinet that Pechyak could scavenge from pre-reach Earth. He said most of them were well over a thousand years old, but with regular maintenance, they stayed running. The food quality was dubious, but it contained carbs and protein, which A’eb said is all I really needed right now.

The fact that Pechyak knew the identity of the High Prognosticant before she walked through his door was probably what set A’eb into a permanent dislike for the place. While the Pizzaverse was a grease pit, its proprietor was an Inguanzonite, who was probably a bigger Green Lantern fanboy than I was at ten years old. When A’eb walked into his restaurant, his long ears, which normally laid back at a relaxed angle over his periwinkle-skinned head, basically stood up on end. He proceeded to roll out what amounted to the red carpet treatment for us, and fawned over the albino woman with more celebrity worship than I had ever seen come from any individual.

When we were finally able to scrape him off our table, A’eb put the same silver box on it. I must have visibly leaned away from it, and my companion smirked sadistically. “Oh,” she said, enjoying every inch of my discomfort, “I see you’ve found a healthy degree of respect for Prognosticant technology. Don’t worry though, the next two steps don’t hurt as much as what you’ve been through already.” With that, she took out the cube, still pulsing red in a thin line around the center, and set it on the table.

“What is that thing?” I asked, remembering how it punched a hole in my hand. I was not about to make the same mistake twice by just idly handling it. I noticed the red pulsing get a little bit faster.

A’eb’s expression grew haughty, and she was clearly proud of the cubic menace. “This is a Prognosticant Conversion Cube. You’re aware that we are all,” she paused, searching for the right word, “configured biologically, correct? This is how we Prognosticants are given our cybernetics. This cube is actually made of nano-assemblers. The genetic sample it took from your hand was used to program it specifically to your body, so there’s virtually no chance of rejection. If you look closely, that’s not just any pulse on its surface, it’s yours.”

“You’re turning me into one of you?” I asked, as I stared at the red line. I put a finger to my neck to feel my own pulse. She wasn’t kidding.

“Not exactly. After all, our genetic makeup plays a large role in how we are able to make such effective observers. However, the logistical and analytical benefits of our coprocessors would be a useful asset for you. In addition, you will need to have absolutely perfect, rigid control over your mind in order to properly travel in time. Having a computer in your head will enable that.” I nodded, slowly. “The process here is quite simple, really. Merely handle the cube between trips to the buffet. Since the nano-assemblers can only move organic matter around, not generate it, you’ll need to eat a lot for them to have raw materials to work with, and they themselves will be the inorganic material that you’ll need.”

“Huh.” I said out loud. “That seems pretty simple.” Pechyak came by with our drinks. This time, it was A’eb’s turn for a glass of water. I selected a fear-yellow, sugar-filled, carbonated beverage, that was likely to kill me slowly if I drank enough of it. I picked up the cube as A’eb leaned back, sipping her water. The pads of my thumb and fingers tingled a little bit as I did, and that tingling slowly worked its way up my arm, and in through my whole body. It was a weird sensation. I suppose it would be like wearing a dusting of powdered sugar, and then sticking your hand down next to an anthill full of ants too small to bite you. Except the ants were crawling _through_ you and not _on_ you.

Whether it was the Conversion Cube or the fact that I was back to being a ‘growing boy’ again, I was able to put away one of Pechyak’s most infamous pizzas, the Permanent Storm. As I handled the tingling cube, I could tell that it was slowly growing smaller and smaller in my hand, as it broke itself apart to enter my bloodstream. By the time the cube disappeared, I had eaten so much pizza I should probably have exploded. Instead, I thought about ordering breadsticks.

And that’s when the coprocessor kicked in. My vision sharpened to more acute than it had ever been before, and I could begin seeing even the most minute details. I could pick out Pechyak’s footprints over by the buffet just from the tread pattern that the grease spatter from the kitchen left. I could hear, separate, and identify over a dozen different arcade machines behind me without even looking at them. I could feel the lack of air blowing through the letters for “No Evil” on the back of my shirt.

I must have developed a forty yard stare, as A’eb waved her hand in front of my face. I snapped my gaze over to her, and was keenly aware that there were exactly nineteen follicles on each one of her two antennae. “The hyper-cognition will fade soon, as your mind retrains itself to filter out less important details. We should go outside for the last step, though.”

I felt every thread in my jeans brush against every millimeter of my legs as I stood up. Wordlessly, because I didn’t know what the vibrations going through my vocal chords would feel like, I followed A’eb out into the Enviro-dome. She held her hand out to me, the other one still carrying the silver box. I took it, a green glow surrounded us, thankfully blocking the smell of the city around us, and we lifted off into the air, speeding for one of the Enviro-dome exits.

Outside of the Enviro-domes, which were custom-designed for each species that primarily inhabited them, was not much of a sight. Sanctuary was a rogue planet, hauled out of deep space and into orbit with the same sun as Oa, the Guardian’s seat of power. Outside the domes, there was no atmosphere to speak of, no magnetic field, and no life. Just grey rock and grey domes, and the endless expanse of space. A’eb’s force field was keeping us alive, so I made sure to hold on tightly, as my hyper-cognitive brain scanned and logged the constellations that I had become familiar with.

We landed on top of the Earth dome, and A’eb took the last item out of the silver box, and handed it to me. It was the bagged power disk, the replacement for a power ring that the Corpse members used. The weird pink slime that it was contained in was still an unknown, though. “I’m certain you can figure out what part of this does,” A’eb said, “but you need to know the rest too. Do you recall the Alpha Lantern Corps?”

I did. They were not a happy subject in Corps history. Each one underwent a drastic, and often violent Cosmic Conversion surgery to have a power battery implanted in their chest. Their personalities also became those of emotionless robots, too. Eventually, they were mostly destroyed, but the Guardians always made new ones just to keep a few on hand. They were supposed to be the Green Lantern equivalent of Internal Affairs, keeping the rest of the Corps honest. The power battery in their chest also proved to be a massive tactical advantage, too. They were nearly twice as strong as the rank-and-file, and they never had to recharge their rings. I nodded at A’eb, grimly.

A’eb continued. “Guardian Sayd sought to refine the process of the Cosmic Conversion surgery, and she had great success. Where the Alpha Lanterns became far more mechanical, she sought to achieve similar results using organic methods. The Guardians, however, were not pleased with her work. You see, the way she created left all of the subject’s original thought patterns, agency, and individuality intact. She was alone in the idea that the Alpha Lanterns deserved such things, though; the rest of the Guardians preferred the idea of unquestioning and uncompromising enforcers to an Alpha Lantern with their own ideas and moral code. So, the Omega Lantern Project, as it was called, was stored away on Nullpoint Station, along with the High Prognosticant.”

“So the contents of that bag...” I got out. My vocal chords vibrating was an odd sensation, but my brain was beginning to get the hang of its new coprocessor. “Will make it so I never have to use another Power Disk? I can just swallow that, and have all the powers of a Green Lantern permanently?”

“Exactly,” A’eb said, deadly serious. “You can understand why the Guardians didn’t want this. Without needing a power battery or having a five day limit anymore, there would be no way to cut off a rogue asset from his power source. But, given the importance of your mission, I have chosen to supply you with this. Your mission will span the course of multiple years, and you cannot afford to be connected to the Green Lantern Corps in any way. You will be the first, last, and only Omega Lantern.”

She handed me the bag, and I carefully tore it open. “Drink it?” I asked, and she gave me the nod. The fluid was… strange. It tasted like drinking a lukewarm hot dog. The disk, of course, was flavorless. I felt the all-too-familiar sensation of it changing form inside me, attaching itself to the top side of my stomach lining, and morphing into a smooth surface that wouldn’t get in the way. Then, something weird happened, and I got extremely nauseous, crouching down just in case I lost what was left of my Permanent Storm. Normally, I wouldn’t have been able to tell, but thanks to my coprocessor handling all the sensory input, I knew that the power disk was busy re-forming the pink fluid that it was suspended in. It was turning itself into a new organ in my body, one that tapped into ambient, cosmic willpower, and focused it into whatever hard-light construct I imagined.

When my guts stopped churning, I stood back up. The feeling was nothing if not familiar, having power like this coursing through my body. I focused on what I wanted, and instantly, it happened. A construct in the exact shape of my body coated me, airtight, but providing me with my own personal, recycled atmosphere. My clothes were on the inside of it, and I looked down at my handiwork. The uniform of the Corpse (and any other construct we made) was pure, matte black, just like A’eb’s eyes. Every Lantern Corps wielded solid light in the spectrum of their emotion, but the Guardians had really outdone themselves with the power disks. They still ran off Willpower, but the light they used was actually high up into the ultraviolet spectrum, so unless a being could see that range of light, everything we made simply blocked all other light from coming through, forming a shadow.

I floated a couple feet above the dome we stood on, on my own power now. A’eb’s green light released me. It felt good to get back in the saddle, and now, I was more independent than I had ever been, even as a member of the Corpse. “Ok. Now this is more like it. You said there were five steps to take, right? What are the next ones?”

In response, she jerked her head back towards the dome entrance, and flew off that direction. I kept up with her easily. “I can provide you with all the data you’ll need about the situation you’ll be going into, and the objectives that must be completed, but the plan will need to be designed and executed by you alone. You’ll have as much time as you think you need to prepare. You’ll need to research Earth in the early 2000’s, come up with a new identity, plan your moves accordingly, and get everything in order. All three objectives must be completed without fail, but the methods you use are up to your discretion.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem.” As we passed through the force field keeping the atmosphere in the dome, I removed my Corpse uniform, flying with my t-shirt flapping in the wind now. “If you’ve got a place to go over everything at, it should only take a couple of hours. Maybe a few days tops.”

A’eb shook her head, sadly. “You misunderstand, Geoff Bush. Today was your tenth birthday. Your father Stanley is waiting for you at home.”

I kept flying, but everything inside me stopped. Dad. Dad was alive. It would be almost thirty more years before he would pass of a drug overdose, after I was declared MIA for joining the Corpse. Heck, it would still be most of a decade before I would graduate from the Edu-modules here on Sanctuary. A’eb watched me closely as she no doubt felt me process the realizations. It must have been a pretty rough ride for her, because the maelstrom of emotions welling up in me was almost overwhelming. The downside of being more fully aware of everything is when you know exactly when you start to cry.

I turned to the High Prognosticant, who had not only given me more power and responsibility than any Green Lantern had ever shouldered, but had also given me my childhood back. For the first time, I saw her smile. Really, truly, smile. It looked good on her. _“Thank you.”_ I said. She nodded. As we entered the artificial afternoon sky over my home town, I shot off towards my house, leaving her smile in my wake.

* * *

I was right in my initial estimation. Completing the plan to save the universe from the Legion before it was ever a threat only took a couple of days. I gave myself a year. When the planning was done, A’eb decided to leave. She was the High Prognosticant, a race designed to be perfect, immortal, undetectable observers. Instead of going down with this timeline, she was going to go back to when life first started to blossom in the universe, and do just that: observe. We parted as friends.

I told my father that the Prognosticants had seen great potential in me. They were going to send me off to a special training course in a year’s time. They would give me this year off school, to say goodbye to all my friends and family and home, because when I left, I would never be coming back.

I’ll be perfectly honest: it was probably the best year a kid could have.


	5. Reentry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geoff's mission begins. First stop: Gotham City.

At twelve o’clock noon in the Earth Enviro-dome on Sanctuary, local calendar September 19th, Earth year 3132, the day after my 11th birthday (for the second time), I ended the universe that I grew up in. I gathered in my full and total willpower, easily directed and perfectly controlled by the cybernetic coprocessor I had spent the last year growing used to, and using the training I received from A’eb, focused it all into the two forefingers of my right hand. They throbbed with inky, black power, as though I had caught a moonless midnight between them and brought it to noon where it didn’t belong.

I thrust my fingers into the air at arm’s length, just slightly higher than my head, focusing my intent to a razor’s edge. The cool autumn breeze and warm sunshine and falling orange leaves of my home faded into obscurity as my mind acknowledged nothing but the task at hand. The emotions that I had been feeling earlier that day, the crying, the foreboding loneliness, the doubt, all swirled away like water down a drain as the coprocessor took over, doing the thinking for me. With that stony-faced, single minded determination, I dragged my hand straight down to the ground, in a slow, forced motion, like I was slicing through a giant, dense cake.

Darkness followed in the wake of my hands, and it was much more than dessert I was carving up. Reality itself parted for me like a hole in a cloth that I had just cut. On this end of the tear, was everything I knew. Comfort, love, and triumph were here; I knew that. I also knew that they would be snuffed out forever, in forty-one short years. I couldn’t let that happen. On the other end of the black rupture was uncertainty, pure and wild. There was just as much of a chance that the actions I could take in the past could simply not be enough. _Hell,_ I had reasoned a week into this year long vacation, _maybe I could even bring the end of everything about even faster._ That’s me, Captain Optimistic.

I knew that I had to do it, and as far along as I was now, I didn’t think I would be able to stop even if I wanted to. I knew that this moment would weigh on me for the rest of my life, however long that was going to be. I took a fortifying breath, and stepped through the tear.

I had the distinct sensation that I was falling, only it didn’t feel like I was falling in any particular direction. I was just falling in general. The inside of the tear was totally pitch black, the only light coming from the faint pinprick of an entrance that I had just opened, and soon that was gone too. There was no sound. No air, although my force field took care of that for me. I couldn’t move, just frozen in place. I could barely think. I wish I could tell you how long I fell for, not floating and not even tumbling. It felt like forever. For all I knew, maybe it was.

* * *

One thousand, one hundred-twenty-six years, eleven months, and twelve hours earlier, I arrived at the destination that I had pinpointed to be on the other side of the time door. Earth. Specifically, high Earth orbit, as I wanted the least chance possible of trying to occupy the same space as another object. Dawn was sneaking up on Paris, Beijing was having lunch, and just the very western edge of Alaska was tucking into bed. Thank goodness I had paid close attention in Earth history.

I felt my coprocessor relent its control, its momentary task done. I began to _feel_ again. It was kind of funny, actually. Spending however long I had, whether that was a few seconds or nearly a dozen centuries, separated from my emotions had also separated me from the last emotions that I was feeling. Namingly, my guilt and regret at what I had just done had been quite pleasantly stuffed in their sacks. Replacing them was uncut, giddy excitement!

I had never been to Earth except for the few short weeks just after I was born. It was clear territory of The Reach, who wanted nothing to do with us. It was also a place where nothing happened that would warrant the attention of a member of the Corpse. I finally got to explore the one planet that Humans would have ever called their own.

Lanterns are equipped with a speedometer that includes faster-than-light at the upper end. The Guardians called it Transluminal. I decided not to use it though, as it tends to detract from any sort of scenic experience when everything goes by in literally faster than the blink of an eye. I kicked into a fast orbit around the northern hemisphere of the little blue and brown marble of my birth. I didn’t have an abundance of time for tourism, but I figured a spin around the long way wouldn’t take too long. I closed into a much nearer orbit, and tore up the space around the planet.

Lakes, rivers, forests, mountains, and cities blew by below me as I took my quick tour. Giddy as I was, I wished for more time to explore every nook and cranny that I saw, but I knew that wasn’t going to happen at the moment. Instead, I kicked the speed up a notch or two, with the sun at my back, and blazed over the shining pacific ocean.

As I cruised around to the dark side of the planet, the lights of the legendary Coast City, home to the inspiration to my joining the Green Lantern Corps, peeked over the horizon. The legendary Hal Jordan, the most infamous Human Green Lantern in Corps history, and debatably over all races, was born there. I have to admit that I lingered. I mean, who wouldn’t? Would a fan of the Human sport of Baseball pause at the home of Babe Ruth or Don Larsen? Absolutely.

After vowing to come back for the full tour, I started to cut my altitude. I still made it way past the Sierra Nevada range, but I manage to come within spitting distance of the Rockies. After shooting over the great plains, with its little towns every seven miles or so, and passing over the Appalachians, I finally caught sight of my first destination: the imposing steel, smog, and stone of Gotham City, New Jersey, USA.

I had done a lot of research on the city, its layout, and its history. It was crucial that I start my mission here, in what many would call the worst cesspool of the United States. I circled once, identifying what would pass for an unobtrusive landing area. It was a quarter past midnight, and most of the normal inhabitants of the darkened skyline would be in bed. All that would be out and about would be the city’s vagrants, criminals, and every madman in a costume.

As my force field was matte black, it wasn’t too hard to stay unnoticed, I just stuck to every shadow I could. Once I got closer, it was easy to pick out the distinctive steps of Solomon Wayne courthouse, with columns on the first and second floor, and statue of lady justice taking up the front of the third. I dropped down into the alley, nice and quiet. I looked around, and, satisfied that I had evaded whatever eyes may be present, released my black forcefield.

Underneath, I had chosen to wear a dull green, baggy sweater, and beaten-up jeans. I would look every ounce one of Gotham’s many wayward youth, which was exactly what I was going for. I walked around the section of the city for a while. It was clear, but in late October, it was freezing. I could easily have regulated my temperature using my Power Core, which is what I had taken to calling the never-before-seen source of Willpower manipulation, but I decided not to. If I wanted to be the part of the street kid, I had to look like I was suffering just as much as everyone else who was out and about at this time of night.

I silently thanked the enormous repository of data that A’eb had access to when I came across the first person who was going to help me save the universe, whether he knew it or not. He was standing at an ATM, just like her files said he would be, dressed in a dark blue, canvas trench coat. He stuck a credit card in, and the machine read it as I approached him from behind, silently.

“What can deflate blisters and balloons as well as bank accounts?” I heard him ask under his breath. He had no idea that the ATM was bugged, and recording his audio, which is how he wound up in the database I combed through in the first place. And why should he? It wasn’t the banks that were setting up the microphones. I heard four key beeps. “Hmm, not his birth year. Birth date?” Four more beeps. “Derek Woodside, what kind of idiot are you? Of course, the kind of idiot that has your PIN written down on an index card in your wallet.” Four more beeps, followed by two more, and the sound of cash being dispensed.

_Go time._

I launched my eleven-year-old self at the wall, directly to the man’s right. He whirled around, money in his hand, expecting me to rush him directly. My legs were a lot shorter than I was used to, but I still ate up the ground with youthful energy. As I did, he brought his left fist around in a cross, almost instinctively. It was impressive, but he was aiming for the chin of someone who was about six feet tall, and I clocked in at nearly a foot and a half below that. It was easy to duck under his fist, and kick off the brick wall just next to the ATM.

He followed me with his gaze, realizing his miscalculation, and knowing it was a touch too late. I used the leverage I had gained to propel the entire force of my ninety pounds soaking-wet self behind the fist that I had I spun around to greet the bridge of his nose. He collapsed backwards onto the street.

He wasn’t unconscious, but I didn’t intend him to be. He _had_ loosened the grip he had on the small wad of twenties he pulled out of someone else’s bank account. I picked Edward Nygma for this precise reason: he wasn’t much of a fighter. I did have to give him credit though, that hit probably would have put other, bigger guys in the hospital. Clearly, the Riddler was used to abuse from people far above my weight class.

I snatched the bills as the mighty mental muscle of one of Gotham’s most wanted struggled to send signals to his limbs that his body could understand. Wanting to waste absolutely no time in getting out of there, I took off at top speed down an alley. I could hear footsteps coming after me, but I had a lead, and I intended to use it. I willed myself into just a small burst of flight, clearing the building to my left, and landing on the roof. I landed softly, just as Nygma rounded the corner into the alleyway. At first, he seemed furious, but then, cupping his nose in his hand, he seemed to calm down. He started looking at the scene for details. I couldn’t hear what he was saying, but he was definitely talking to himself. He had gone from mad to amused.

 _Great,_ I thought, _I’ve become a puzzle to solve by someone who will absolutely try to kill me if he ever works it out. Good job on day one of the mission, Geoff, good job._ I shook my head as I stepped back from the ledge, counting my, err, Riddler’s ill-gotten gains. Six hundred bucks, not bad at all. If I spent it frugally, it could keep me set up for at least the rest of the week, maybe longer. The problem was, I had better uses for it.

I left the rooftop and the alleyway behind me, my first change to the timeline complete. History stated that the Riddler would have got away with this one, minor though it was. His typical foil was actually taking an honest-to-goodness night off for once, something else I had learned in the database. I was simply going to reappropriate his funds towards saving the universe, which I knew would have been a gray area were I still reporting the Guardians. Hell, it was a gray area anyway, but I needed the money tonight.

I skipped a few more roofs south, and found another quiet landing spot. I walked the rest of the way to my destination, the Gotham Museum of Natural History. More specifically, the notorious Iceberg Lounge, favored hangout of one Oswald Cobblepot, AKA The Penguin, AKA bad news all around. The door was flanked by two beefy-looking guards who didn’t seem to mind anybody seeing that they had sawed-off shotguns leaned up against the stone columns they were standing by.

This was Penguin though, even the roughest of his goons had a semblance of class, and his meaty mooks were dressed up in blazers. One even had a tie. I straightened my back, put a little spring in my step, and walked straight up to them.

I could tell that they both spotted me immediately, but they went back to whatever quiet conversation they were having. They were making an effort to ignore me as I approached, and it wasn’t until I was a meter or so away that one put his hand out to stop me. He had a reddened, round face, and blond hair done up in short spikes. “Hold it kid,” he said, sounding for all the world like a football coach, “this ain’t no field trip time. Museum’s closed.”

I smiled genuinely, despite the fact that the way his breath smelled was in direct competition with the alleyway I landed in for ‘Gotham’s Worst’. “Thanks, but I’m not here for the tour. Tuesday night is still poker night, right?”

The guard scrunched his face up and kneeled down to get to my eye level, trying to process what was going on. “Yeah, but how’s a runt like you know that?” He looked at his partner, an imposing, bald, black man wearing sunglasses, trying to confirm if he could believe this either. Shades chuffed out a single, mirthless laugh in response.

“Look,” I said, “you know how news travels in Gotham. Plus, I’ve got money to play.”

“Money to play, he says.” Shades scoffed sarcastically. He tilted his impressive muscle mass forward off the stone column, and cracked his knuckles, making the sound of distant gunfire. “How much money?”

“A hundred for each of you, and an extra hundred for whoever gets me down past any more security without further incident.”

Beefy and Beefy both seemed taken aback by my savvy kid routine, and I capitalized on it. I pulled out the wad of cash that I had just grabbed from one criminal and proceeded to distribute a portion of it out to two others.

Spike grinned up at his partner and said, “Well whaddya know? Looks like the kid does know how Gotham works.” He rose back up to his usual height, addressing Shades again. “I gotta take a leak anyway. May as well take my break early.” Turning back to me, he said “Come on, kid.”

As he opened up the lounge doors for us to walk through, all I could think was how nice it must have been to be Oswald Cobblepot some days. The luxurious, deep blue carpet, decorated with miniature fleur-de-lis practically gobbled up the impacts of my worn-out shoes, and the full-grain mahogany walls were polished so well that I could see my distorted reflection in them. The short hallway opened up into a cavernous dome, the walls of which were decorated with paintings of scenes from under the ocean. The floor was a pristine, marbled glass.

It was not a quiet night in the Iceberg lounge. About forty of Penguin’s mooks ambled about in various stages of intoxication, all to some thumping bass guitar in a song singing about windmills. Suspended from the ceiling in what could only be described as oversized bird cages were some very attractive women, dressed (sort of), in the skimpiest iterations possible of what I could only describe to be 1940s gangster outfits, with striped blazers, skinny black ties, winged heels, and fedora hats. My eleven-year-old hormones certainly stood at attention and took all the notice I would allow them to. It was a fitting homage to Gotham; what a city.

Spike hustled me along, as although I might not be on the clock, he was, and I soon found myself slipping him another five of the Riddler’s stolen twenties as I approached a large, half-moon table. The people sitting on the side closest to me had to at least be pulling down six figures, probably even before you added in their legal, taxable income. The one across the table, occupying the dealer’s seat, was none other than the Penguin himself.

Just like the file I read on him suggested, he was not a physically imposing man. He couldn’t have been much taller than me, and he was portly on top of it. Underestimating him was a mistake that many people had made, though, judging from the liberal amount of scars on his knuckles. He was dressed in a white dress shirt, with a red bowtie and suspenders. A monocle adorned his right eye, balanced precariously on his hooked nose. A devious smile graced his features, pointing the cigarette holder he gripped between his teeth skyward.

“Oh my dear, I am so sorry, but it looks like that’s your last hand for the night!” Cobblepot’s cockney accent rose above the din and the music as he greedily scooped the last stack of bills on the table in front of a very leggy redhead to his shoulder-height pile of winnings. “We’ll see you next week, same time alright? Unless you’re flat now, which case I’m sure I can find a cage for you out there.”

A round of guffaws rose from the intoxicated table, and I felt like only half of them were well-meaning. The redhead gathered up her exotic, black fur coat and left. That’s when Penguin finally caught a glimpse of me, standing there with his hired henchman. The humor drained out of his face almost immediately, his legendary temper swings showing already. “Steve-o!” he called. “What the fuck is this? Bring your brats to work day?”

I couldn’t see Spike behind me, but I could hear the shrug in his voice. “Kid says he came to play, and he’s got money to.”

I could see the old mobster’s wheels turning behind that monocle as he took a long drag on his cigarette. I was sure it wasn’t every day that a fifth-grader sauntered up to your Texas Hold-em. I was also sure that the Penguin didn’t care who he fleeced money from. In the end, he made a show of leaning down to the table’s edge and peering at me before saying, “Well how about that? Guess we had better deal him in then!”

I smirked on my way up onto the swiveling bar stool. The old bird was never going to know what hit him. A’eb had taught me a few tricks that the Prognosticants used to survey timelines before she left, and this was their time to shine. With my hand in my pocket, I quietly manipulated my Power Core into creating six miniature black drones, no bigger than the size of a gnat. Each one of them flew out, barely noticeable in the darkness of the lounge, and almost totally undetectable once they landed on each contestant’s shoulder.

As a regular Green Lantern, or even as a member of the Corpse, it would have been difficult to use even one of these they way the Prognosticants did, but the Coprocessor they all had installed made it easy. Each drone broadcast a video feed to me, which ‘replaced’ my eyes by substituting their input in my brain. It was like I was literally peeking over the shoulder of everyone at the table without them knowing about it.

Needless to say, I cleaned house. My starting fund of three hundred snowballed into nearly fifty times that amount. I didn’t win every hand, in fact I lost quite a few, but I made sure to win when the big money was on the line. One by one, the players left the table, until it was just me and Cobblepot.

“Hen’s teeth, kid,” Oswald said, visibly confused as to how I had managed to be the last one standing. “You’re really something else.”

I smiled broadly. “That I am, Mr. Cobblepot. That I am.”

He nodded, slowly, as he shuffled. Even with my drone hanging out on his bowtie, I almost missed it as he dealt out the cards. Three cards slipped out of his right cuff and were perfectly deposited on top of the deck. _The house always wins._ I did my level best to ignore what he did, but my mind was working out what was going on. _Three cards. One of them is going to be burned. He alternates dealing, me, him, me, him. There’s no way one card each could guarantee a win or a loss either way, and he can’t be cheating for the long game, there’s no way he would risk a trick like this more than once._

Oswald dealt out the cards, and I looked at both of our hands, courtesy of my observation drone. I had a king of hearts, he had a seven of clubs, and we _both_ had an ace of spades. That was his play. He wasn’t going to win, he was going to accuse me of cheating. I was in the middle of his stronghold, nobody would dare stand up to the Penguin here unless they had a small army in their pocket. Worse, it was just him and me at the table, his word against mine.

I couldn’t risk being made as a kid with powers, not at this stage. I had to change the dynamic of the situation. If I folded, it would be just as bad as getting caught with the planted card. It would tip him off that I actually _had_ been cheating.

“Well, what say we call this a night, cockerel? ‘Uncle Oz’ has business to get to.” He slid his entire stack of cash, well more than ten times what I had racked up, into the middle of the table.

I drummed my fingers on the small fortune that I had in front of me. “I have a better idea,” I said.

What little humor Penguin had left ebbed away, and he shot me with a stone-faced glare that may as well have been an armor-piercing bullet. Cobblepot was nowhere near playing around anymore. “Do. Tell.”

I could feel a bead of sweat work its way from the top of my head down my right temple, but I managed to keep my cool, even as I vanished the drone from the mobster’s bowtie, and let my uniform spread out over my skin, just under my clothes, in case he decided to take a shot at me. “You’re an excellent businessman, Mr. Cobblepot. Surely you would be interested in making a worthwhile investment tonight.”

He stared as a response. He must have been used to this kind of weasling. “Knowledge is power, and I happen to have something you can use. Actionable intel on one of your rivals.”

Penguin frowned, but he was thinking and not shooting, which I counted as points on my side of the board. “I don’t have any rivals, son. I’m the goddamn king of Gotham city. But out of curiosity only, who the fuck thinks they have the balls to call themselves my rival?”

I pointed at the deck of cards. “We’ve been playing with a couple of his business cards all night, if you get my meaning.” Silence. Granite-faced silence. Something in his features though, changed. Not anything he could control. His face became just a shade too red, his pupils dilated just a millimeter too much. I had something he wanted.

His glower continued. “And, forgetting the fact that you’re a street urchin with a lucky streak, and I don’t ask where this information came from, how much would it be worth to you?”

“Looks to me like I could happily give it away at no charge.” He cocked an eyebrow at that. “I mean,” I glanced down at my winnings from the poker game, “I’ve already come out ahead for tonight anyway.”

Penguin brought one hand up and stroked his chin, absentmindedly gnawing on the bit of his cigarette holder. He technically didn’t have to pay me anything, just let me go with what I had ‘won’ already. As it stood, he saved money _and_ saved face, which no gangster worth his holdout pistol could turn down without kicking themselves in the morning.

His nod was almost imperceptible, but it was there. “Ok cockerel. Sing for me.”

Thank the Guardians that A’eb’s database had been meticulously put together. “A week from today, Tuesday the 25th, the clown is going to hit White Mountain Elementary School in broad daylight.”

“A school? What the fuck would that lunatic want with a school?” The mobster was getting incredulous.

I put my hand up in a placating gesture, “Doesn’t even matter. What matters is that his goons are going to be away from one of his bases that you haven’t managed to find yet.”

The hook-nosed crime boss squinted in confusion, then looked away, as though he was chasing the answer to some question around with his eyes. He nodded. “And, er, where exactly is this base of his?”

 _Jackpot._ “Robinson Park. North part. Entrance is below one of the Twelve Caesars statues.”

Penguin sat there, for a long time, the cogs and gears cranking away in his cruel little noggin. Eventually, he smiled. “You know, we knew some of that damn clown’s boys were in the park. Never could find them though. And you say they’re going to be busy on Tuesday?” I nodded, serious. Oswald glanced at the small stack of cash on my side at the table, and shrugged. He stuck his scarred hand over, and I shook it. “Pleasure doing business with you, cockerel. Now get the fuck out of my lounge and don’t ever let me see your face again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all, thanks for sticking with me so far. If you've been keeping up with this fic as I write it, I apologize for it disappearing for a bit. It got invited to a collection that didn't want to seem to release it to the public. I didn't really know what was going on, so I accepted, but I managed to dig it back out. Thanks for your understanding while I get used to navigating this website.


	6. Big Top

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geoff begins to meddle in the timeline, altering the future of Gotham City forever.

Fifteen thousand dollars in the year 2005 could go a long ways. I had managed to set myself up at a halfway-decent motel on mainland Gotham, although I only paid for two weeks up front. The good part about such a rough city is that if you can pay cash up front, there usually aren’t too many questions. In other words, it didn’t matter if you were an eleven-year-old, just that you were a wealthy eleven-year old.

I got a small wardrobe going, including comfortable new shoes with good traction, and a few suitcases to pack everything in. Having left my toiletries in a doomed universe, I replaced those as well, although I had to admit that the lack of a true sonic toothbrush did disappoint me. The one I picked up used the word sonic, but it just vibrated the head with an off-balance motor, instead of using sound waves like my one back on Oa. In addition to some casual clothes, I got myself a single outfit of business wear, and some gusseted jeans.

The only other purchase I made, besides food, was a mask. As Halloween was just around the corner, it was easy to pick up one from the local big box store. There was a slightly more high-end version of the Battlin’ Bug’s mask, a popular character who had just enjoyed a successful movie team-up with the Retaliators. The brown, chitinous-looking plastic covered the entire nose and mouth area, and two large, insectoid eyes covered in scrim cloth sat beneath the two iconic brown antennae. Battlin’ Bug was one of the comic books that had survived all the way to my home century, so I felt right at home being an eleven year old in a Halloween costume again.

Most of the money I had acquired from the Penguin, however, went to bribes. I don’t need to go into detail on how corrupt the city of Gotham is. Nearly every single official was on the take from somebody, and on October 25th, that somebody was me. So far, I had made do by relying on Prognosticant A’eb’s massive knowledge repository about this era, but even that would only take me so far. This was going to be the final manipulation of the city’s criminal elite, my foot in the door of Earth’s super-powered hero community.

And so, on Tuesday morning, in my gusseted jeans, Battlin’ Bug mask, and a Gotham Knights baseball jersey, I walked into the front doors of White Mountain Elementary. Normally the place would have been a clamor of kids even younger than I appeared to be, their chaos barely controlled by the underpaid and overworked guardians of Gotham’s future. Today, though, somebody had paid all the teachers double-time to take the entire school on a field trip to the science and technology museum, all expenses paid. And _someone_ also paid the janitors, security guards, and administrators to take a sick day today too. Now, who could that have been?

The footsteps of exactly one individual echoed down the darkened halls, full of speckled tile floors and white-painted brick walls, and that individual was me. I left one of my surveillance drones perched on the door jam, an early warning system for when my expected guests arrived. I bypassed the cafeteria, and proceeded straight to the gymnasium. The buzzing of the lights told me exactly which way to go, and I made sure to keep the doors open wide as I walked up to take my stage at center court. I started to do some basic calisthenics to get the blood flowing. It wouldn’t do to get a cramp in the middle of my own operation.

Fifteen minutes later, my drone picked up on a pair of voices that I had thus far only heard about in legend. I smirked, listening to them banter as I walked towards center court, allowing my forcefield to cover my body under my makeshift outfit, just in case.

“I know City Hall passed some education cuts last year, Harley, but you would expect at least some cars in the parking lot, wouldn’t you agree?” _Unstable, murderous, attention-seeking, and punctual,_ I thought. _Joker never ceases to surprise._

The nasally, feminine voice of Harleen Quinzel came after him, complete with her Staten Island accent. “I don’t like this Mistah J. I even double-checked the school calendar online, and there was nothing about a vacation. I smell a rat, I tell ya.”

“I’ll bet you five that it’s a bat instead.” I saw him walk by my drone, green hair, white face, red lipstick, and tacky purple suit and all. He appeared unarmed, but I had read enough up on him to know better.

“You’re on puddin.” Harley Quinn was absolutely armed, including an Uzi, a bandolier of fragmentation grenades, and a comically oversized hammer, as well as wearing a form-displaying red and black corset ensemble. “B-Man doesn’t seem to like sunlight, so I figure it’s gotta be someone else.”

They strode perfectly comfortably down the hallway, armed to wipe out the population of a small village, and I remotely piloted my surveillance drone to land on Harley’s hip to continue eavesdropping on them.. “Still on about that vampire theory of yours, are you? I keep telling you toots, he’s just as much Arkham fodder as the rest of us. Maybe next time I go there for a visit, I can arrange for us to be cellmates! Oh, wouldn’t that be fun? Although I bet he would hog the top bunk.”

“Hey, er, boss?” A meaty, male Jersey accent crackled to life over a small handheld radio on Quinn’s belt. “Do you still need us here? It looks like everyone took the day off.”

The red and black clad looney retrieved the radio, letting her Uzi swing by its shoulder strap. “Oh yeah, Charlie,” she said sweetly, “you can just go on back, and if someone sneaks by the rest of the boys after Mistah J told them nobody in or out that wasn’t in clown make up,” her voice pulled a total U-turn from cotton candy to carnage craving, _**“THEN YOU CAN BE THERE TO FEED YOURSELF TO MY HYENAS FIRST YOU USELESS CRETIN!”**_ She then calmly clipped the radio back to her belt. “If he lives through this operation, I’m gonna cancel Charlie’s dental insurance, ok puddin?”

“Not the time, sweetie,” said the Clown Prince of Crime, “It looks like the only class in session today is P.E.”

I let my drone dissipate, its audio and visual input vanishing from my senses, and allowed my force field to spread across my skin again, under my clothes. The yellow scrim cloth of my mask tinted my view of the gymnasium, but the quality of the mask meant it didn’t outright obstruct anything. The destructive duo entered from the same door I did, just as I was finishing stretching out my hamstrings.

“Ah-HAH!” Harley Quinn exclaimed when she saw me stand up, complete with my #12 jersey of Jimmy Queenan from the Knights. “I TOLD you it wasn’t a bat! It was a bug instead!”

“Too true, my dear. Allow me to pay up.” Joker’s gloved right fist whipped out, faster than I would have expected, and backhanded his number two clean across the mouth. She made a wet sort of ‘WFFF’ sound on her way to the hardwood floor, and I winced when she landed. Turning my attention back to the main event, I just shook my head disapprovingly. “What’s the matter, Banterin’ Bug? Where are all of your stellar lines about how you’re going to exterminate crime?”

“Oh me?” I said, not even bothering to change my voice into anything besides that of an eleven-year old kid. I shrugged. “I figured it was your town, clown. Don’t want to upstage the headliner. Plus, I heard you work better with a straight man to riff off of.”

“Such professionalism in one so young!” The lanky man in the purple suit offered me a beaming, rotted smile, and an elaborate bow. “I haven’t had the pleasure of working with someone so respectful since I made that killing in Vegas, right Harley? Harley?”

 _You’ve reached the voicemail of Doctor Harleen Quinzel. I’m not in my office at the moment,_ I thought, as the woman lay there limply, _please leave your message after the beep._

I crossed my arms. “Sleeping on the job. Hard to find good help these days.”

“Never fear, bug boy! I bought the bug spray you know and love!” Somewhere from under that hideous suit jacket, the Joker produced an already-hissing canister of snot-green gas, about the size of half a soda can. He flicked it out smoothly, with a cackle that rang off the brick walls and wood floor, and it landed at my feet.

I brought my forcefield up around my nose and mouth reflexively, but I laughed anyway. It wasn’t the increasingly frantic laughter of someone dying from Smilex poisoning though, just an amused chuckle. “Seriously? You thought I’d go down that easy? You must not have watched the movies.” So I had a few hours to kill over the last week, and fifteen thousand dollars actually covered both the ticket and popcorn.

“First rule of show business kid,” the Joker expounded, “always lead with a classic one-two!” Someone who was not either a highly-trained caped vigilante, or equipped with a cybernetic coprocessor, may have missed the gun that he had quietly retrieved from the inside of his vest while the Smilex gas filled the air. Fortunately, I was one of the aforementioned exceptions.

Human bodies, especially ones that are in good shape, can react surprisingly quickly when they have enough time to process what’s going on. It’s part of our natural evolution as tool-using predators. When you had the information easily sorted out and spoon fed to you by a computer chip in your brain, dodging bullets actually was fairly simple. Not that I would recommend it to people who can’t predict the trajectory of a shot with pinpoint accuracy. Of course, I also had my force field on under my clothes, rendering me bulletproof anyway, and that knowledge really boosted my confidence to try something like this. The revolver’s roar echoed around the gymnasium like a cannon as it spat out a .45 caliber round that I casually leaned out of the way of.

“Hmmmm…” the Joker’s grin finally twisted into a grimace, as he realized that I wasn’t just dressing like the Battlin’ Bug, but borrowing his power set, too. Five more miniature explosions cracked through the air. _Duck! No, lower! Roll! Up! Back!_ I crossed my arms smugly. A seventh shot tore through the air between us, and I barely turned my head out of the way before it clipped the front of my Bug mask. _Because of course the Joker’s the kind of asshole who would have a seven-shot revolver._

“Whew!” I said, exaggerating for effect. “Almost had me there slim. Hope you’ve got a few more tricks up your sleeve than that though.”

The Joker smiled again. “As a matter of fa-” _**RATTATATTATATTATATTATATTATATTA**_

The rounds from Harley’s pink, bedazzled Uzi put a jagged line of holes up my right leg, all the way across my left shoulder, ruining my nice new jersey. The force of the blows was unexpected, and knocked me flat on my back. Anybody without the benefit of my force field, or some other fully bulletproof armor would have been killed in a matter of seconds.

Joker addressed his girlfriend. “Nice timing, you murderous psychopath you.”

“Thanks, puddin,” she said groggily, “I heard you use the Vegas signal and knew to play possum, like that one time at Circus Circus.”

I leaned back up on my right elbow. I could see Harley’s eyes widen in surprise, although Joker wasn’t looking at me. “Aww, how sweet,” I crooned. “Too bad for you that memory lane leads downtown.”

“Oh great,” Joker rolled his eyes at me, “hadn’t heard there was a new meta in town. Fine then, let’s see what you’ve got. It’s been awhile since I had to use a little clown-fu.” He raised both his hands in front of him, taking a boxing stance that looked like it needed a large, fancy mustache to complete it. He chortled giddily, obviously immensely enjoying the fact that he had the opportunity to show off to someone new.

I shook my masked head again. “If you insist.” It was time to stop fighting like the Battlin’ Bug, and start fighting like a Green Lantern again. I could feel the power core inside me tighten, almost like a muscle in my abdomen as I began forming will constructs. I reached out my hand, an unnecessary gesture, but one that always helped me focus. Tendrils of inky blackness extended from it, racing for each of my opponents. The first one formed itself to a razor edge as it clipped Harley’s gun, carving straight into the firing chamber, and rendering it useless. It then doubled back and lunged for her shoulder, tearing through the canvas of the grenade bandolier, and letting it drop to the floor. She immediately reached for it, but never got there, as my construct altered from a blade to a chain, that wrapped around the woman’s ankle.

“Hey!” she shouted, indignantly. “Not fair!” She began hurling a quite impressive string of expletives as I carried her up to the rafters to dangle there by one leg, her pigtails swinging in the building’s heating system.

Once she was taken care of, my other construct treated the Joker with just as much kindness. As he wasn’t carrying any obvious weapons, I went for his feet first, and lifted him off the ground upside down. From there, I proceeded to shake him like a schoolyard bully would for his lunch money, a tactic that the Joker apparently found hilarious, as he was laughing the whole way. For every nickel or dime that would have fallen out of a third-grader, some sort of gaudy form of chaos-causing instrument clattered to the gym floor, when finally, with a surprisingly heavy _**thud**_ , his suit jacket came off, along with a set of false hands, revealing his red suspenders and squirt flower. I made sure to cut that off, too, as I formed a third construct. This one was a simple, black box, big enough to house both of them, with a set of bars dividing it into two sections.

I deposited the Joker in one half, and gently lowered his girlfriend into the other, then sealed the top of it. It was soundproof, thank goodness, but still not airtight. I wanted to capture them, not kill them. All I had to do at this point was wait for the word to get out that the Joker gang was letting off shots in an elementary school in broad daylight. I didn’t think I had long to wait.

Three or four minutes later, I was proven right, as I heard the quiet scrape of metal on metal. Without turning my head, I glanced up at the rafters to see a ventilation duct swinging by a single screw, and heard the soft squeaking sounds of well-oiled leather gripping the steel girders. I smiled, trying to predict what was going to happen next. For good measure, I made sure that my force field was up, just in case my new guest thought I was a threat.

There was a _woosh_ of air above me, and two swift but sure boots landed directly behind me. In that one smooth motion, a sharpened red batarang was at my neck. The kid had moves, I’ll give him that. I slowly rose my hands into the air, as I answered sarcastically, “Doctor Livingstone, I presume?”

“What’s in the box?” His tone was young and angry, but that confirmed who I was working with at least.

“Not what,” I said, “who.”

“Fine. Who? And don’t think I won’t use this just because you’re a kid,” said the guy who was actually fourty-one years younger than me, and only a year older than the body I currently had.

Without making the motion I would have usually done to modify my construct, I made the sides of the box reach inwards, towards their occupants, grabbing their hands behind their backs, and forming them into elbow-length cuffs. I also put a soundproof pair of earmuffs on the both of them, which looked comical, but I didn’t want them to hear any part of the conversation I was about to have. That work being done, I disappeared the box, depositing both of its occupants on the gym floor in a pile. “See for yourself.”

“Hey, new guy!” Joker said with a smirk on his face. “Aren’t you a little young to come up with these cuffs? They’re pretty kinky, huh sweetie?”

“WHAT?” Harley replied. I thought it best if they butted out of the conversation entirely, so I covered both their mouths with black duct tape constructs.

That earned a bemused huff from the preteen behind me, and the batarang withdrew. “Well, I guess that answers the question of what side you’re on.” He walked around me, and I got my first good look at Robin, younger half of the dynamic duo. His costume told me all I needed to know. Dark green boots, gloves, cape, mask, and briefs over a red shirt and red pants. And there were no fish scales in sight, either. This was the one and only Jason Todd, before his well-documented demise (as far as A’eb’s files went, anyway). He suck his right hand out to me. “I’m Robin.”

“Pleased to meet you, Robin. Obviously, I’m not the real Battlin’ Bug, but I don’t have a real proper hero name yet, so you can just stick with that for now.”

“Hmm. New to the gig?” he asked, crossing his arms.

I winced beneath the mask. “Eh, it’s one of those long story things, and I have to split for the moment. You might wanna cuff those two yourself, mine will disappear when I get out-of-range.” Out-of-range meant halfway to Coast City at the limits of my concentration, but he didn’t need to know that. He nodded and retrieved a couple of sturdy-looking cuffs from his utility belt.

“You should probably talk to Batman,” he threw over his shoulder as he crossed the gym floor. “He really likes to keep tabs on everyone operating in Gotham City, no matter which side they’re on.”

I nodded and said, “I plan to. Actually, you’d be doing me a huge favor if you could get him to clear his schedule for a lunch meeting tomorrow. Does he like chinese food?”

“Yes to your second question, but lunch doesn’t really work well for Batman.” He clicked the cuffs in place on Joker, and went to tend to the clown’s girlfriend. “He’s more of a nighttime kind of guy, you know?”

I waited until he had Harley secured before I said, “Don’t worry, I’ll make it work. Gotta split though, or my teacher’s gonna go thermal.” I let the constructs on the villains fade, and gave a quick half-salute to Robin as I kicked up into the air, and flew out the door like I had somewhere to be.

 _So far so good Geoff,_ I thought to myself as I landed in an unobtrusive alley. I chucked the Bug mask in a garbage bin, its usefulness spent. _Gotta be on your toes tomorrow though. Biggest job interview of your life coming up._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who aren't familiar with the infamous Death in the Family story arc, Jason Todd was captured by The Joker after finding out his real mother was alive, and tracking her to a refugee camp in Ethiopia. This story line was modified for the Arkham story arc, as seen in the Batman: Arkham Asylum games. In this, Jason followed a gruesome trail of mutilated kindergartners to the villain's hideout. It was from there that he was tortured and eventually killed, leading to some of the darkest days for Batman and company.


	7. Pinnacle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meet the new boss, same as the old boss.

The tour guide might have been reading from a phone book for all I cared. Sure, she was bubbly, and enthusiastic, and her lipstick was shiny and reflective, and her dyed blonde hair fell down to her shoulders in perfect curls, contrasting well with her flawless brown skin and gorgeous face. She was also leading us on a guided tour through Wayne Enterprises, which had to be the most impressive thing that everyone in the group but me had ever seen. The architecture was modern and pristine down here in the lobby, designed to impress people who weren’t looking for corporate trouble, and intimidate those who were. Every few feet there was a glass display of some of Wayne Enterprise’s crowning achievements, old ones and new ones, and each earned its share of adoration from the group of twenty people on the 11:30 tour.

I was not here to see Wayne Enterprises. I was here to see Wayne, Bruce, as his name appeared in the phone book. Needless to say, he didn’t often make himself part of the tour, but that was ok. I had no intention of being part of the tour any longer than I had to. The hardest part might have been convincing my stomach to stop growling at the thought of the piping hot chinese food I had carefully loaded into my backpack. I was dressed in the mostly formal outfit I had picked up, a dark grey silk business shirt and a just-slightly-off-white tie; black slacks, shoes, and belt.

‘Me’chelle was extolling the accomplishments of the Wayne Motors Group back in the 1920s when I spied what I had been waiting for: a pair of elevators next to a bathroom. When she was done with her section on Gotham City’s first industrial assembly line, I shot my hand up. “Excuse me miss,” I said when she nodded at me, “where is the restroom?”

She put on a forced smile, probably having to do this every group, and pointed down the hallway to the ones that I had spied. I thanked her and hurried towards them. When I stepped into the men’s room, I verified that it was empty, and promptly went invisible.

Invisibility was mostly a handy trick that a few Green Lanterns would pick up, especially if their sector involved a lot more intrigue and a lot less bad-guy blasting. It was difficult to get down, you had to manipulate your own light field in a way that made light bend around you instead of get stopped by you. It had a lot of limitations, too. If you moved too fast with it, or formed any other constructs, and you’d go bright again. When it came to the Corpse though, you usually learned it if you wanted to survive to your first solo mission, and you learned to put it up at a moment’s notice. I was confident in my construct, but looked in the bathroom mirror anyway, just to be safe. I saw nobody looking back at me, so that was good.

Not wanting to chance someone bumping into me in the elevator, I made my way to the stairs, which thank goodness weren’t behind some sort of alarm-ridden fire door. There was just enough room between them that I could slowly and silently hover straight up to the top floor, where I quietly opened the door to the executive level. Batman might have been the world’s most paranoid superhero (for good reasons, mind you), but Bruce Wayne worked hard to be the kind of approachable CEO that everybody could admire. The walls separating the executive offices from the hallway that extended from the stairs and elevators were entirely glass, with only a frosted portion from knee-to-elbow high, just enough so that you could see what was going on, but not enough to see any sensitive information without being too obvious yourself.

The electronically-locked security doors were manned by a single armed guard, who looked serious about his job. He diligently made eye contact with everybody who entered or exited the office, checking their face against their photo ID badges. Fortunately for me, all I had to do was wait until a busy-looking African-American woman marched out of those doors on what looked to be a warpath. I simply slid right in as the guard watched her go by.

It didn’t take me long to find Bruce Wayne. The glass walls trend extended all the way to the boardroom, where it looked like the senior staff were packing up their folios and brief cases from a meeting. One man, broad of shoulder and who moved with predatory grace, was currently stretching and yawning as if he woke up from a nap. I didn’t judge him, I spent plenty of sleepless nights on missions. Plus, when your name is on the building, I guess you get a bit of leeway.

He sauntered out towards his office, checking his watch as he went, and I followed him. We actually had to climb a modern-looking set of spiral stairs to go up another level. Here, the glass stopped, and was replaced with deep, rich, walnut wood, with a dark tile floor polished so well you could look down to fix your hair.

“Emily,” Bruce said, addressing his secretary, who sat behind a tall, antique desk, “has my lunch appointment shown up yet?”

She shook her head, sending brown curls falling down to her almost-professional teal dress. “No Mr. Wayne, we haven’t heard from them either.”

That was my cue. I let my invisibility construct fade while I was just at the top of the stairs, so that nobody from below could tell that someone just appeared out of thin air. “Sorry I’m late,” I said, causing both Bruce and Emily to turn towards me. I straightened my tie as I approached them, and offered my hand to the man I knew to be Batman. “Mr. Wayne, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Ah, yes,” he said as he shook my hand, apparently confused, “Mr. Queenan, correct?” _At least Robin went with the name on the jersey, and not Battlin’ Bug._ I nodded. “Remind me again, what were you here to discuss?”

I looked him dead in the eyes, and smiled politely, “I’m here to thank you for the recent donation you made to White Mountain Elementary, and they would like to see if you would care to work with them further.” Of course, we both knew that neither Bruce Wayne, nor Batman had made the donation to which I was referring.

Wayne’s confusion was replaced entirely by a bevy of well-controlled emotions. He nodded though, “Of course, how forgetful of me. Please, come into my office. Emily, please clear my schedule for the rest of the afternoon, you know me and charity work.”

Emily smiled and said “Of course, Mr. Wayne.”

We both strode into the tasteful, round office, lined with books and busts of famous Gothamites and presidents. Huge windows gave an unprecedented view of the city, reserved only for the elite. As I admired the scenery, Bruce quietly locked the doors behind us, and then walked back towards me. “Whoever you got the information from forgot to mention, you must be at least five feet tall to blackmail me.”

He said it deadpan, but I smirked and chuckled anyway. Silently, I swung my backpack onto his oversized desk, and pulled out a couple paper plates and sets of chopsticks. “Tofu and vegetable lo mein, flower steak, fried rice, and egg rolls,” I said, as I pulled out each box individually. “From Xie Lian’s, of course. I’ve lived here in Gotham a week and I already know that’s the best Chinese food in town.”

He looked at me incredulously. “Xie Lian only speaks Chinese.”

I tossed him a bottle of water, which he caught effortlessly. “我能說流利的六百萬種形式的溝通。”

Bruce rolled his eyes at the Star Wars quote, but it wasn’t far from the truth. Technically I was using my power core’s functions as a translator, just like a Green Lantern ring. Three thousand, six hundred sectors of space could produce an impressive amount of languages. Apparently satisfied that if I was really as smart as I acted, I wouldn’t try to kill him with poisoned take-out, he grabbed a pair of chopsticks and started serving himself some lo mein while I mixed a bit of spicy mustard into the sweet and sour sauce Xie Lian’s hooked us up with.

We ate in silence for a minute or so, both of us apparently thankful for the meal, when my new billionaire buddy reopened the conversation with “So, how far in the future are you from?”

I nearly spat out my flower steak! Less than five minutes, and he had already figured out I was a time traveler! I recovered, quickly downing the succulent morsel, and washed it down with a bit of my own water. “Wow, they don’t call you the world’s greatest detective for nothing. How did you do that?”

He finally showed some genuine expression in a confident smirk. “Pretty easy when you think about it and don’t rule out any possibilities. The list of people who know my identity is short, and none of them who regularly associate with kids would send you to Gotham without contacting me first. You also knew detailed information on one of Joker’s crazier plans, and that’s stuff even I rarely get. There was no way an eleven-year-old could have done that.”

It was my turn to smirk. “Actually,” I began.

Batman held up a hand, he wasn’t finished yet. “You’re not eleven, I know. You presented yourself way too professionally for someone who should have been more interested in my secretary’s blouse. Due to your handling of the Joker situation and your interaction with Robin, I think I can safely say that you’re not out to exploit your knowledge against me, which really narrowed you down to one of two possibilities. Either you’re a high-level magic user, capable of listening in on the Joker’s plans from a safe location, or you’re a time traveler acting on information that has already happened from your point of view. Either way, the fact that you’re here now means that you want something from me, and knowing what Bruce Wayne does in his spare time usually means that you need Batman’s help.”

I shook my head in amazement as I polished off my half of the egg rolls. “All true,” I said. “What made you pick time travel over magic?”

“Simple,” Bruce explained as he picked a plump mushroom out of his lo mein, “the only magic user that ever comes to me for help is Zatara, and that’s because we go way back. Everyone else seems to know that I think magic is nothing but trouble, and doesn’t ask me about it.”

I held up my hands in surrender. A’eb’s records went pretty far in-depth on virtually any individual that operated on a global scale, meta-powered or otherwise, but Batman had me nearly pinned down entirely within the span of a quick lunch break. “Well, you sure have impressed the hell out of me,” I said. “And you’re right, I do need your help. As Batman.”

Bruce grunted in response, his humor fading quickly into what I had gathered to be his usual grumpy self. “I have questions. And I’ll hear you out, but I won’t make any commitments at this point. You still have a lot to prove, even if you can somehow confirm everything I’ve just guessed.”

I nodded my head, but kept my eyes firmly planted on the dark tile floor. “Yeah, and I’ll do my best to fill you in,” I said, “but please let me first state that what I’m doing here in the past is almost entirely classified. Please don’t think I’m stonewalling you on any of this stuff because I want to. I’m literally trying to save the universe here, so the least I can do is stick to the plan the best I’m able to.”

He crossed his arms with a sigh, as he walked over to one of his shelves, apparently admiring his own art pieces. “Alright, let’s start with the basics. Your real name, because you’re not any relation to Jimmy Queenan, how old you really are, who sent you, what your primary objective is, and what year you’re from, and we’ll see where we go from there.

“Alright then, that’s not too sensitive. First of all, my name is Geoff Bush, pleased to meet you for real this time. I am fifty three years old, although I spent my last year stuck inside my own ten year old body for mission related reasons. I have traveled back here from over a thousand years into the future, Earth Year 3173, to be precise. I was sent by the Guardians of the Universe to make contact with three individuals around this time period in order to prevent a catastrophe that would eventually wipe out all life everywhere.”

“Hmm,” he replied, his dislike of the Green Lantern Corps evident in his sneering tone, “that explains the abilities that Robin witnessed. Why are your hard light constructs black and not green? What’s with the lack of a ring and uniform?”

“Long story short, I come from… well, I came from a black ops team from within the Lanterns that actually doesn’t even exist yet, as far as I know. We do our best to distance ourselves from the main body of the Corps for deniability. That actually reminds me, I should also mention that I am to avoid any and all contact with other Green Lanterns if at all possible. My mission isn’t what you would call a welcome visit for them.” It was as sure as gravity. The Guardians would not be impressed that a single member of their ranks sent me back in time and wiped out their entire future. Of course, as of now, that exact future wouldn’t be around for them to miss, but I really doubted they would see it that way. The Legion was still coming to destroy them all anyway unless I completed my mission.

Bruce nodded quietly to himself, still not facing me. After a moment he asked “And what exactly is my place in your plan?”

I had to run the answer through a filter that wouldn’t give away any mission critical details. “I have about eighteen months or so to establish myself as a rookie powered hero in this time period. What’s more, I have to avoid using my powers in a way that would make it obvious that I’m any form of Green Lantern.” I stuck my hands in my pockets, a little embarrassed about the next part. “You were actually my suggestion in the planning phase. Few Green Lanterns excel in the kind of martial arts combat that you use. I figured that maybe if I could get you to train me, I wouldn’t have to rely on my powers near as much as I do now, which would help me stay under the radar as a Lantern. Additionally, there are a few groups of people that you’re in a unique position to put me into when I need to be there. I’ll be able to give you more information on that aspect when the time comes, if you decide to help me. Finally,” I added, “because the nature of my mission involves changing the timeline, telling the Justice League about my objectives may actually wind up causing more harm than good, which is why I decided to approach you about it privately first. The plan has been set up to shake up as few events as necessary to complete the overall objective.”

“And, of course, you have absolutely no way to prove that anything you say is true.”

I shrugged my shoulders. “That’s the bad part about travelling back in time. It doesn’t matter if I tell you that the sun’s going to rise in the east tomorrow morning, there’s no hard evidence one way or another because tomorrow hasn’t happened yet.”

Bruce slowly turned around, his eyes distant, but still staring at me. His brow was furrowed, and I could tell that the lightning-fast mind that had seen through me so quickly was working hard, throwing all the variables into one giant equation: a risk analysis with the literal fate of the universe hanging in the balance. If the Bat refused my request now, it would be back to the drawing board in some very big ways. I clenched my teeth, a habit I had when my nerves started to get the better of me.

Finally, he took a deep breath, and his gaze focused back on me again. “Rule number one,” he started, “if you’re asking for my help, you follow my orders. All of them. Gotham City is under my protection, and I do things my way for very good reasons. If my orders directly contradict your mission, say the word ‘Wildcard.’ I’ll know that you need to follow your own instructions for a bit, but I’ll expect a full report as to why. Rule number two: while you are in Gotham City, you will not use any of your powers. No flight, no constructs, no force fields, no invisibility, no translations. Rule number three: I have known other heroes for months and years, I have known you for a half hour. I have built up far more trust with them than I have you. It’s not personal, I don’t trust easily. In my absence, if Robin or any other hero gives you an order, treat it as though it comes from me. If it’s something I don’t agree with, they’ll have me to deal with later. Rule number four: I’m going to train the hell out of you, just like you asked. It may not be me training you, in fact, I have a few good teachers in mind. If, and only if, I think you’re ready to not rely on your powers anymore, we will work on a new identity for you. These rules are not up for negotiation. You disagree with any of them, now’s your chance to walk out the door and figure out saving the universe on your own.”

I smirked. It had been a very long time since I had orders this strict; it had been since Corps boot camp, in fact. I might have been stuck in an eleven-year old body, but I was every bit the consummate professional as any military personnel that Bruce Wayne had ever rubbed shoulders with. I sharply clicked my heels, and gave a crisp salute, before sticking my hand out to shake his. “It’s a deal.”

He crossed the short distance to me in a few steps, and shook my hand, staring down at me. He was deadly serious, I could tell. Not letting him think I was wasting his time had just become priority one for me.

“So,” I said, eager to impress, “where do we begin?”

“First, finish your water.” I hesitated only for a moment, before I realized that wasn’t a request. I gulped it down and threw the empty bottle in the small trash can next to his desk. “Now,” he continued, “Take everything you have out of your pockets, and any hidden items you may have, and put them in your backpack.” My wallet, cash, hotel room key card, and cell phone all went in. He promptly zipped up my backpack and placed it behind his desk. “Very good. Now, Alfred is serving supper promptly at six PM. Don’t be late.”

I opened my mouth a bit, to ask how I was supposed to get there. Then I snapped it shut, realizing that this was most likely a test to see how sincere I was in my request. It would also be a good measure of endurance and resourcefulness in finding my way to an unknown location with no real resources. “Right,” I said with way more confidence than I actually had at the moment. “See you at six then.”


	8. Slope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gotham City is home to darkness, from the supernatural, to the terrifyingly real.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This chapter contains non-graphic subject matters that some may find objectionable. Please review the updated tags of this story if you are concerned.

_ “In position.” _ Batman’s gruff voice crackled slightly over the miniature radio in my ear.

_ “Likewise,”  _ said Robin.   _ “Corvid?” _ he asked, awaiting my response.

“Ready.” I said under my breath, trusting that the microphone was sensitive enough to pick it up.  Our fourth team member was under permanent radio silence, but knew enough to jump in at the right time.

I was sore as hell, and the Gotham weather was as uncooperative as ever.  The prototype Batsuit that I was wearing, sans any identifying emblems, was waterproof and insulated well enough to protect against Mr. Freeze’s ice gun, but I still  _ felt _ cold and wet.  My head was pounding, probably from hanging upside-down on the underside of a steel girder, suspended above an alleyway that could have passed for nearly any in the city: dark, smelly, filled with detritus, and probably the residence of at least one transient at some point every night.  Man, I missed flying.

Then again, it was entirely possible that how I felt had nothing to do with how long I had been hanging there by small electromagnets and grit.  This mission had all of us on edge.  It was a sensitive thing: something that the worst of humanity did that got everybody hacked off.  Apparently, the now-deceased mayor of Gotham had a penchant for fooling around with people who were too young to give consent by more than a few years.  The Moxon family, an old name in the Gotham mob scene, had been supplying him with his vice before Batman shut them down, but they had taken plenty of video evidence for blackmail.

Now that the mayor was gone, the blackmail was useless, but there was always someone willing to pay money for that kind of sick stuff.  One of the family’s kids, Frank, had been released from jail recently, and needed some startup cash, and decided to auction the thing off online.  Deplorable.  So maybe my arms were sore from clenching my fists, maybe I felt cold because that’s how I got when I was angry; I didn’t yell and scream, I withdrew into silence.  Maybe I felt wet because I was sweating, ready to get very physical with people who very much deserved it.

It affected us all.  Bruce became even more brooding, less walking around the Batcave and more stalking around it.  Even Jason’s juvenile brand of humor was starting to sound more angry and cynical.  Alfred, ever our rock, had been making calming tea in double quantities so we could get to sleep without wanting to put our fists through the doors of Wayne Manor in frustration.

_ “Contact,” _ said Batman, snapping my focus back into the alley.  The cameras in my suit’s visor had been running for twenty minutes.  The plan was to record the exchange itself, then prevent any parties from escaping.  A quick glance to my right verified three men walking down the alley towards me, or at least one Frank Moxon carrying a briefcase and two very man-shaped gorillas, all in suits.

Down the alley to the left was a single figure that pushed the envelope on what we knew his stereotype to be.  He sauntered forth with his hands in his jean pockets, wearing a long trench coat, a black trilby, and mirror shades.  Whatever it was that was giving him the confidence to meet a bunch of mobsters outnumbered like this, it wasn’t the scraggly excuses for a beard and a moustache that he had.

My nose twitched in the beginnings of a snarl, as some of the scum of the Earth walked beneath me.  The Batsuit had speech amplification microphones, so I was able to pick up what they were saying.  I admit, I tuned it out.  Most of it was posturing and bantering, veiled threats about what would happen if the source of this information went public, typical gangster crap.  All I had to do was watch the exchange happen, we could take these assholes down and be back to the cave in time to hear about it on the news.

Of course, nothing can ever go easy for me.  The plan promptly went ninety degrees sideways when our fourth team member took the initiative.  The pitch-black, svelte form of Batgirl dropped straight out of the night onto the buyer of the wretched goods.  I had seen her use the strike she was opting for in our training sessions.  Her knee was out, and I  _ heard, _ from eight meters up, the sound of it impacting the joint between his collarbone and his shoulder.  He’d be signing his confession with his left hand, from a hospital bed.

I couldn’t blame Cassandra for being just as angry as we were.  Just because she didn’t have a language that involved words didn’t mean she didn’t know what was going on when we saw the type of footage this mobster was peddling.  Thanks to the cruel upbringing as an experimental assassin at the hands of her father, her first and only language was that of body language.  It probably wasn’t too great of a logical leap to conclude that we had been steadily more upset the closer this mission got, and those feelings had reached a fever pitch tonight.

She had read our emotions perfectly, but we couldn’t even tell her the plan.  Since the exchange hadn’t happened, we didn’t have video footage of the mobsters’ intent to sell, or the solo man’s attempt to buy.  We would have to hope for Gotham’s notoriously unreliable court system to sort things out.

We all jumped into action.  I pulled my hands away from the steel girder and dropped quietly to the ground, Robin swung around a corner on his grapple line, and Batman landed in the middle of everyone, his cape billowing around him as he landed, making him look nearly twice the size in the shadowy alleyway.  It must have been what the apocalypse looked like for the mobsters, as they shakily drew their guns to train them on a very angry dynamic duo.

**_CRACK_ ** was the sound of the other shoe dropping.  Across the alley, I could see a crimson mist erupt from Cassandra’s torso, just below her ribcage on her left side.  I could hear the air escape from her as she took a single step to the right, into the cover of a brick building, and collapsed.

The shock hit me later.  My first thought was  _ Hey, that isn’t right, the Batsuits are all bulletproof to small arms fire. _

Nobody froze, but the dynamic in the alley changed in an instant.  Jason shouted a defiant “NOOO!!” and rushed over to her crumpled form.  Moxon and his goons turned for the exit, took one look at me, and chose the only direction unoccupied by a cape to run.  I followed them for a half step, and looked to the only one of us to maintain his composure in the bedlam that had started.

Bats was over the hill, but he moved faster than I had ever seen another human that night.  In an instant, he had flicked two Batarangs into separate places in the brick wall to his left.  Each one began flashing like a strobe light, but in a randomized pattern.  Whoever had drawn a bead on Batgirl wasn’t going to be able to reliably fire from that angle again.   _ “Robin,”  _ he said as he sprang into action himself,  _ “Radio the Justice League for emergency medical transport.  Authorization Batman-01 Caudecus Alpha.  Corvid, make sure those gangsters don’t get away.  I’ll handle Lawton.” _

_ Floyd Lawton _ , I thought, as I took off tailing the three men in suits.   _ Batman figured out that it was Deadshot responsible for shooting Cassie in that short of time.  Bastard!  I wonder if it was the sound of the gun that gave it away. _ _ Whoever that was, that thing has the penetrating power of an anti-tank rifle.  I had better keep my head down. _

Despite my shorter stride, I was faster than the hired muscle, but I wasn’t bothering to keep quiet.  Both of them turned on me and unloaded their heavy pistols, but I was ready for them.  I brought my arms up in front of me, the cape of my costume reacting to the gesture.  Hardened carbon fiber strips formed a bulletproof barrier of ribbons in front of me.  The Corvid suit was Batman’s first test of bleeding-edge technology, with an advanced computer that controlled the cape, lengthening it as a sheet when I needed to use it to glide, into this bulletproof mesh when I needed extra defense, or to shorten it up to allow me to move more freely without it.  While the panels covering my body would stop the bullets too, this made sure I didn’t even feel the impact.

The wings could do other tricks, too.  As I got within melee range of the two heavies, I formed my hands into knife-edges, as though I was preparing to karate chop them.  The wings followed the gesture, and solidified into stiff blade shapes themselves.  They wouldn’t cut anything, but they did give me a significant reach advantage.  It didn’t take much for me to capitalize on their surprise as I used the wings to disarm both of them, knocking the weapons out of their hands in a single, whirling motion of my arms.

As the metal clattered against the cement, the beatdown began.  Meathead on the left took a swing at me, which I dodged inside.  I rammed my elbow into his solar plexus, forcing him to exhale quite explosively, then tucked and rolled out of the way as Meathead on the right tried to wrap me up in a bear hug.  He missed entirely, overextending himself, and putting all his weight forward.  He was too easy of a target.  I dove back in, putting my hands behind his head, and driving my sore body upwards.  My knee hit his chin, and must have rattled his skull enough to knock him out cold.

The man the two were trying to protect leapt into a white convertible, and revved the engine.  No way I was letting him get away with that.  I raised my grapple launcher and took aim at the spot between the rear seats.  The bark of one of the heavy pistols broke my concentration, as a .45 calibur bullet tore through the sensitive machine’s winch, rendering it little more than Bat-themed scrap metal.  I delivered a frustrated kick to Meathead number one’s temple, dropping him like a sack of hammers.

I turned to run after the car, which was rapidly accelerating away, and there was no way I was going to catch up on foot.  I realized I had a choice.  I could use my powers, disobeying Batman’s direct orders, or I could let this sleazeball get away and hawk his garbage another day.

Who the heck was I kidding?  I would deal with the consequences when they happened.  For the first time in nearly a year, I felt my power core tighten as I created a construct.  My own, matte black grapple line shot out from my hand, and punctured the white car’s trunk.  My costume wings extended in the flight pattern to get some altitude, and to make sure I didn’t crash into anything else on the street.  I sailed along like a kite for a few seconds, and then slowly reeled myself in onto the back of the speeding car.

Frank couldn’t have been a day over thirty, and boy was he surprised when I put my arm around his neck from the back seat, holding a Batarang.  “PULL OVER!” I yelled over the mechanical blare of the engine.  He yelped, and to his credit, didn’t wreck the car as he reached for his gun sitting on the passenger seat.  I took the opportunity to pin his suit sleeve to the center console with the bat-shaped throwing weapon.  I pulled a new one out from the suit’s utility belt, and returned it to his neck, adding “NOW!” for good measure.

“Fuck you, kid!” he shouted, stomping the accelerator to the floor.  The car leapt obediently forward, and the driver pointed it towards the tunnel leading to Miagani Island.  At this time of night, the upper crust of Gothamites would be acting like Grand Avenue that way was their own personal dance party.  This car ride had to stop, and quickly.

I stuck the second Batarang into his suit sleeve next to the first, and pulled out one of Batman’s older gadgets from my utility belt.  Over the forward window of the car, I whipped three small, off-white marbles with blinking green lights on them.  I crouched down behind the driver’s seat as they bounced down the hood.  With a muted explosion, each of the three balls expanded into a mass of thick, sticky, foam.  It went  _ everywhere _ .  Over the window, under the tires, and most importantly: into the fan belt and the air intake.  The car’s engine jumped three octaves as it strained for oxygen, and the other moving parts set to a piercing squeal that hurt my ears even through the dark cowl I wore.

Moxon threw his hands up off the wheel in panic, shouting “Shit!”  Fortunately for the both of us, he was in too much of a hurry to put on his seatbelt.  I gripped the back of his suit jacket with both hands and jumped straight into the air.  Calculating that I was carrying someone by the strain on my arms, the Corvid suit dutifully expanded my wings into flight mode again, the resulting drag pulling the both of us out of the car as it began to smoke.  On account of the glue under the tires, and the lack of anybody pushing the accelerator anymore, the expensive white beast slowed mostly to a stop on its own, but not before ruining the right half of its paint job by scraping along the right guard rail in the tunnel.

I wasn’t sure whether it was from the totaling of his car, or the shock of being torn out of it, but Frank Moxon sure had most of the fight out of him as I cuffed him and left him in the middle of the street.  I jogged over to the smoking car to retrieve the briefcase with the evidence we needed in it, then returned to the kneeling gangster.

“Corvid to Batman,” I said into my radio.  “Moxon and the briefcase are secure.  Could use a lift.”

The reply was almost immediate.   _ “Hold your position, I’m on my way.” _  Now, Batman always sounded angry to me, but he was downright pissed right now.  I worried about Cassie.  Even the adrenaline and the relief of catching these creeps couldn’t put a stop to the chill I felt, knowing that one of the friends I had made on Earth could very well have died tonight.  There was a sinking, tight feeling in my chest that had nothing to do with generating hard-light constructs out of willpower.

The roar of a way-too-powerful car engine preceded the Batmobile as it always did, and when it smoothly slid around the corner to see me, its driver expertly pulled the handbrake and swung the rear end around, killing the engine.  Momentum carried the black tank of a car to within a few feet of me before it stopped dead.

“Trust me,” I said to Moxon, as the back hatch of the advanced military vehicle opened to reveal two prisoner transport seats, “with the night he’s had, you want to get up and get in there yourself.”  His survival instincts kicked in, and he didn’t offer much resistance as I helped him up and frog-marched him to the Batmobile.

There was only one seat available, with the other being occupied by Deadshot.  He was almost in full costume, with black kevlar and burgundy canvas underneath, but his signature targeting headpiece and wrist-mounted guns were absent.  Normally in this situation, I would have expected some sort of talkback from one of Batman’s foes, maybe at least a baleful glare.  Instead, he pointedly looked away from me, despondent.

I shouldn’t have been surprised.  Lawton had a daughter at home.  Shooting Cassie was probably the last thing he wanted to do tonight.  It didn’t make me feel much better.  I sort of wished he did talk some trash so I had an excuse to hit him, but I didn’t think that would make me feel much better either, so instead, I buckled Moxon into the seat next to him, and let the doors close as I walked up to the driver’s cab.

As the canopy slid forward over me and Bruce, I asked “How is she?”

He sighed heavily as he reached back and grabbed the briefcase as I handed it to him.  “Not good.  Stable, but she had a lot of internal damage.”

My breath caught in my throat.  “... Will she…”

“Mr. Terrific has her now, and he’s patched me back up from worse.  I’m confident she’ll make a full recovery, even if he isn’t.  But it will take time.”  I felt myself deflate more than exhale as Batman deftly picked the locks on the briefcase.  Inside was a laptop, which he plugged in to the Batmobile’s auxiliary power.  I let him work in silence.

After the machine booted up, I saw the glow of a startup screen illuminate his unshaven face.  It had been a rough week, and judging by how he quietly closed his eyes and the laptop, it wasn’t getting any easier.  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

“Laptop is empty.”

“What?”  Had we really gone through all that, nearly got Cassie killed, for nothing?  “Was it a dummy or something?”

He shook his head.  “No.  It has no hard drive.  RAM only.  It has a small OS install file on a thumb drive, but as soon as the power is turned off, anything in the RAM gets completely erased with no way to recover it.  It had dead batteries when I opened it, meaning that it was only given enough power for the exchange to happen.  It’s an older failsafe, but it’s still effective.”

“Damn.”  Batman threw his souped-up car into gear, and we peeled out towards the GCPD.  In the eleven and a half months that I had been training under him, we had our setbacks, but we really got an F on this one.

“There’s more,” he said.  The soundproofing of the cabin was good enough that I could hear the edge of anger in his voice over the engine; anger that was not directed at Deadshot, Moxon, or even Cassie.  “You used your powers tonight.”

I grimaced, and looked down at the chair in front of me.  “Yeah.  What gave it away?”

“Your grapple gun has a three-pronged spear, like Robin’s.  I saw using my rear cameras that the mark in Moxon’s trunk had four prongs, like mine.”   _ The World’s Greatest Detective strikes again. _  I shook my head.  “You have one chance to explain yourself before I throw you off this team.”

Sighing deeply, I told him.  “I got careless.  I focused so much on catching Moxon that I neglected to make sure one of his goons was unconscious before I tried to grapple his car.  He recovered his weapon, and shot my grapple gun.  So I put him out, and made my own grapple construct.  I’m sorry,” I added, “It won’t happen again.”   _ Way to go Geoff.  Wasted an entire year just to screw it up.  Now it’s back to the drawing board with less than a third of the time you had to make contact with the first target. _

“No.” Batman agreed with me.  “It won’t.”

* * *

 

Alfred ceaselessly performed the monumental duty of keeping the Batcave as clean as Wayne Manor.  Most of the time, that was a good thing.  Unfortunately, tonight it meant that there was nothing for me to angrily kick about the cavern without causing even more of a mess for him to clean up, so I let my mood stew as I stripped out of the Corvid suit for what I suspected to be the last time.  I hit the showers, scalded myself clean, and stepped into a pair of workout pants, and a loose grey shirt.

Bruce was waiting for me down at the Bat Computer.  Quiet.  Arms crossed.  He hadn’t removed his costume yet, just removed the helmet.  I approached him, hands at my sides, clicked my heels and straightened, ready for whatever came next.

He rubbed his eyes and said “At ease.”  He paced for a moment as I fell in line.  “So, you broke one of the rules I set down when you asked for my help.  You did so knowingly, and without hesitation, to catch a criminal on charges that we don’t even have the evidence to back up.  Furthermore, you were subtle in this attempt.  You could have flown, you could have created a flying horse to ride and chase him down on, or just blasted the car out from under him; whatever it is you Lanterns do.”  He took a deep breath, looking out over the Batcave.  “I have to admit, I’m actually pretty impressed.”

_ I-  Impressed?   _ “Um… what?”

“The rules I applied to you were sincere, I expected you to follow them to the best of your abilities, but I also knew there would come a time when you had to break one or more of them.  This life, what we do, it means that there are no certain moments.  No single set of rules is going to apply for every situation  If you had gone the full eighteen months you said you had without breaking a single one, I would be much more concerned that you were some sort of agent playing a long game.  That being said, I was paying close attention to which rule you would break, and how long it would take, and what actions you took when you did.”

“So it wasn’t so much about blindly following orders, but a test to see what circumstances would make me act independently.”

“Exactly.”  Bruce strode over to a console to the side of the Bat Computer, and tapped in a few commands.  “And like I said, I’m impressed, both by how long you refrained from using your powers, and what you did with them.”

A metal cylinder rose out of the floor with a pneumatic hissing sound.  I recognized it, he kept spare costumes in those, or ones that were designed for specific use.  This one, in particular, did not have any form of Batsuit in it though.  As it slowly opened, I was treated to a costume my size.  It was pitch black, except for two thin, purple lines, one going up the left leg, on up to the shoulder, and one crossing it horizontally across the chest.  They intersected at the left collarbone, and formed a circle around an italic, purple letter “P”.  Boots, gloves, and a domino mask reminiscent of Robin’s were also included in the bundle.  The lack of a utility belt, or any other gadgets nearly made me scratch my head, but I remembered I would be able to use my powers again once I took up a new identity.

A rare half-smile graced Bruce’s face.  “I’ve been toying around with an identity.  Something that would let you use your powers in a limited fashion, but also make use of all the training you’ve had over the past year.  I think it’s time you told me about the next group of people you’re supposed to meet.”

I smiled back.  Even in the face of failure, I could still keep going.  “First off, what’s the P stand for?”


End file.
